With the sphere in his hand, he walked to the door. Cari was waiting.
“Here are the instructions,” she said.
Ecks looked at her sharply. He wished he had some psi-abilities left. He would have given a good deal to know what was going on behind that quiet, pretty face. Psi’s never bothered to read faces; the affective aura surrounding every individual was a far better indicator.
If one had normal psi-sensitivity to read it.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said, following him outside. The sunlight was momentarily blinding, after two days in the little room. Ecks blinked and looked around automatically. There was no one in sight.
They walked in silence for a while, following Uncle John’s instructions. Ecks glanced right and left, pitifully aware of his vulnerability, on the lookout for detection. The instructions laid out a devious, meaningless pattern for Ecks to walk; doubling back on streets, circling others. They approached West Broadway, moving out of the slums into psi territory.
“Has your uncle ever told you what he wishes to do?” Ecks asked.
“No,” Cari said. They walked in silence for a while longer. Ecks tried not to look at the sky, out of which he expected the psi officers to fall, like avenging angels.
“Sometimes I’m afraid of Uncle John,” Cari volunteered, after a few moments. “He’s so strange, sometimes.”
Ecks nodded absently. Then he thought about the girl’s position. Actually, she was worse off than he was. He knew the score. She was being used for some unknown purpose. She might well be in danger, although he didn’t know why that should concern him.
“Look,” he said, “if anything happens, do you know the Angler’s Bar on Sixth and Bleeker?”
“No, but I could find it.”
“Meet me there, if anything goes wrong.”
“All right,” she said. “Thank you.”
Ecks smiled wryly. How idiotic of him to offer her protection! When he couldn’t even protect himself. At least, he told himself, it was an understandable urge. Even if he didn’t quite understand it himself.
They walked several more blocks.
Then the girl looked at Ecks nervously.
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“Well,” she began, “I sometimes can see things that are going to be. I never know when, but just sometimes I have a picture of something. Then in a little while it happens.”
“That’s interesting,” Ecks said. “You’re probably an undeveloped clairvoyant. You should go to Mycrowski University. They’re always looking for people like you.”
“So far, everything I’ve seen has turned out right,” she said.
“That’s a nice record,” Ecks told her. He wondered what the girl was driving at. Did she want praise? She couldn’t be naive enough to believe that she was the only person in the world with latent clairvoyance.
“So far my uncle has been right in everything he’s said, too,” she told him.
“Very commendable,” Ecks said acidly. He was in no mood for a family pangyric. They were approaching Fourteenth Street, and the air was thick with psi’s. A few people were walking—but very few.
The Cordeer Building was three blocks ahead.
“What I’m wondering is,” she said, “if I see something happening one way, and my uncle sees it happening the other way, which of us will be right?”
“What do you mean?” Ecks said, taking her arm as they crossed a street filled with jagged rocks.
“My uncle said you’d be safe,” she said, “and I just don’t understand.”
“What?” He stopped.
“I think they’re going to try to capture you.”
“When?”
“Now,” she said. Ecks stared at her, then stiffened. He didn’t need psi power to know that the trap was sprung.
The health men weren’t being gentle this time. Telekinetic force jerked him off his feet. He looked for Cari, but the girl was gone. Then his head was forced painfully down, his hands and feet seized.
Physically, not a hand had touched him yet.
Ecks fought wildly, in blind panic. Capture seemed to touch off some ultimate instability in his personality. He tried desperately to snap the telekinetic bonds.
He almost did. Power came. He freed an arm and managed to throw himself into the air. Frantically he tried for height.
He was smashed to the pavement.
Again he tried, a supreme effort—
And passed out.
His last conscious thought was a realization that he had been tricked. The uncle—he determined to kill him, if the opportunity ever presented itself.
And then there was blackness.
A MEETING of World-Health was called at once. Marrin, in Psi headquarters in New York, opened the special channel. Chiefs in Rio, London, Paris, Canton, came into emergency circuit. Marrin’s tightly organized information was flashed around the world in less than a minute. At once he received a question.
“I would like to know,” the Health Chief from Barcelona asked, “how this Ecks person escaped you twice.” The thought carried its inevitable identity pattern. The Barcelona chief’s face was dimly apparent; long, sad, moustached. Not his true face, of course. Identity patterns were always idealized in the manner the particular mind viewed itself. Actually, the Barcelonan might be short, fat and clean shaven.
“The second escape was in broad daylight, was it not?” the Berlin chief asked, and the other chiefs glimpsed his broad, powerful, idealized face.
“It was,” Marrin replied. “I cannot explain it.” Marrin was seated at his black desk in Psi-Health. Around him hummed the normal activity of the day. He was unaware of it.
“Here is the complete sequence.” It took longer to telep the scene-by-scene breakdown of the attempted rescue.
After the attack by the poltered dagger, Marrin had assembled his men around the point where Krandall’s informant said Ecks would appear.
“This informant. Who—”
“Later. Let him complete the sequence.”
Fifty agents covered the area. Ecks appeared on time, and in the indicated place. He was restrained with little difficulty, at first. Fighting, he showed a slight surge of latent strength; then he collapsed.
At that moment his energy potential took an explosive, exponential jump. Ecks vanished.
With Marrin’s permission, his recollection of the moment was broken down and scrutinized more closely. The picture remained clear. One moment Ecks was there, the next, he was gone.
The images were slowed to one a half second. In this running there was a blur of energy around Ecks just before he vanished. The energy was on so high a band that it was almost indetectable.
There was no known explanation for it.
The impressions of the participating agents, as recorded by Marrin, were combed, with no positive result.
“Would the Health Chief from New York care to give his theories?”
“Since Ecks is a cripple,” Martin said, “I can only assume that someone is helping him.”
“There is another possibility,” the Warsaw Chief said. His idealized identity came through with the thought: slim, whitehaired, gay. “Ecks may have stumbled on some undiscovered form of psi power.”
“That would appear to be beyond the realm of probability,” the sad-eyed Barcelonan teleped.
“Not at all. Consider the emergence of the original psi faculties. They began as wild talents. Couldn’t the next mutation begin in a wild talent stage?”
“There are tremendous implications in that,” the London Chief said. “But if so, why hasn’t Ecks utilized it to greater advantage?”
“He is probably unaware of it. But he has an inherent protection system, perhaps, which shunts him out of danger at stress moments.”
“I don’t know,” Marrin said dubiously. “It is a possibility, of course. We are well aware that there are m
any untouched secrets of the mind. Still . . .”
“An argument against your theory,” the Warsaw Chief broke in, teleping directly to Marrin, “is the fact that anyone helping Ecks would necessarily have this extra-psi power. They would have to, to affect an almost instantaneous disappearance. If they did have it, wouldn’t they have more of a plan—less randomness—”
“Or seeming randomness,” the Londoner said. “It could be a test of strength. By dangling Ecks in front of Marrin, such a group could determine a good deal about his capabilities and, by extrapolation, the capabilities of all psi’s. The repeated inability to capture Ecks would be meaningful.
“It’s a possibility,” Marrin said cautiously. Academically, he found the discussion interesting. But it didn’t seem to be serving any practical good.
“What about Krandall’s informant?” the Barcelonan teleped. “Has he been questioned?”
“He has never been found,” Marrin said. “The sender was able to block all identity-thoughts and he left no trace to follow.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“First,” Marrin said, “to alert you. That is the purpose of the meeting, since the carrier might well get out of New York. Also, the disease rate here has passed the minimum epidemic level. It can be expected to spread, even though I’m closing the city.” He paused and wiped his forehead.
“Second, I’m going to trace Ecks myself, working on a new set of probability locations supplied by Krandall. Working alone, I’ll be able to avoid all thought haze and deflection. It’s just possible one may do what many cannot.”
MARRIN DISCUSSED it with them for half an hour longer, then broke contact. He sat for a few moments, moodily sorting papers. Then he shrugged off his mood of despair and went to see Krandall.
Krandall was in his office at the tomb of The Sleeper. He grunted hello when Marrin levitated in and motioned him to a chair.
“I’d like to see those probability locations,” Marrin said.
“Right,” Krandall said. The end-product was quite simple: a list of streets and times. But to get that information, Krandall had correlated the total amount of data available. The locations of Ecks’ disappearances, his reappearances, his psychological index, plus the added correlates of suitable hiding spots in the city where a cripple could stay undetected.
“I think you stand a pretty good chance of finding him,” Krandall said. “Of course, holding him is something else again.”
“I know,” Marrin said. “I’ve come to a decision about that.” He looked away from Krandall. “I’m going to have to kill Ecks.”
“I know,” Krandall said. “What?”
“You can’t risk having him loose any more. Your infection rate is still rising.”
“That’s right. The policy of the Health Board is to quarantine diseased persons. But this is a matter of public safety.”
“You don’t have to justify it to me,” Krandall said.
“What do you mean?” Marrin got halfway to his feet, then sat down again and shook his head. “You’re right. Evidently Ecks can’t be captured. We’ll see if he can be killed.”
“Good hunting,” Krandall said. “I hope you have better luck on your project.”
“The Sleeper?”
“The latest attempt flopped. Not a stir out of him.”
Marrin frowned. That was bad news. If they ever needed Mycrowski’s intellect, it was now. Mycrowski was the man to resolve these events into a related whole.”
“Would you like to see him?” Krandall asked.
Marrin glanced at the probability list and saw that the first time-street fix was almost an hour off. He nodded, and followed Krandall. They went down a dim corridor to an elevator, and then through another corridor.
“You haven’t ever been here, have you?” Krandall asked, at the end of the corridor.
“No. But I helped draw up plans for the remodeling ten years ago.”
Krandall unlocked and opened the last door.
In the brightly lighted room The Sleeper rested. Tubes ran into his arms, carrying the nutrient solutions that kept him alive. The bed he lay on slowly massaged The Sleeper’s flabby muscles. The Sleeper’s face was blank and expressionless, as it had been for thirty years. The face of a dead man, still living.
“That’s enough,” Marrin said. “I’m depressed enough.”
They went back upstairs.
“Those streets I gave you are in the slums,” Krandall said. “Watch your step. Asociality is still present in such places.”
“I’m feeling pretty asocial myself,” Marrin said, and left.
He levitated to the fringe of the slums, and dropped to the street. His sensitive, trained mind was keyed for stimulation. He walked, sorting impressions as he went, searching for the dull, almost obliterated throb of the carrier’s mind. Marrin’s web extended for blocks, sifting, feeling, sorting.
If Ecks was alive and conscious he would find him.
And kill him.
“YOU FOOL! You incompetent! You imbecile!” The disembodied voice roared at Ecks.
Blurrily, Ecks realized that he was back in Cari’s house, in the slums.
“I gave you a course to follow,” Uncle John screamed, his voice bouncing against the walls. “You took the wrong turn!”
“I did not,” Ecks said, getting to his feet. He wondered vaguely how long he had been unconscious.
“Don’t contradict me! You did. And you must do it again!”
“Just a minute,” Ecks said evenly. “I don’t know what your game is, but I followed your instructions to the letter. I turned down every street you wrote down.”
“You didn’t!”
“Stop this farce!” Ecks shouted back. “Who in hell are you?”
“Get out!” Uncle John roared. “Get out—or I’ll kill you.”
“Be reasonable,” Ecks said. “Just tell me what you want. Tell me what I’m supposed to do. Explain it. I don’t work well in a mystery.”
“Get out,” the voice said ominously.
“I can’t,” Ecks said in despair. “Why don’t you drop this spirit pose and tell me what it is you want? I’m a normal person. Health officers are everywhere. They will kill me too. I must first regain my abilities. But I can’t—”
“Are you going?” the voice asked.
Ecks didn’t answer.
Invisible hands were at Ecks’ throat. He jerked back. The grip tightened. Force battered him against the wall, chopping down at him. Ecks rolled, trying to escape the merciless beating. The air was alive with energy, hurling itself at him, crushing him, smothering him.
MARRIN SENSED the increase in energy output at once. He traced it, got a fix and levitated toward the location, sifting through the energy manifestations for some identity pattern.
Ecks!
Marrin crashed through a flimsy wooden door, and stopped. He saw Ecks’ crumpled body.
Berserk force was alive in the room, undirected now. Suddenly, Marrin found himself fighting for his life. Shielding, he smashed against the telekinetic power that surged around him.
A chair was swept up and thrown at him. He deflected it, and was struck from behind by a pitcher. A bed tried to crush him against the wall. Avoiding it, he was struck in the back by a poltered table. A lamp shattered on the wall above his head, spraying him with fragments. A broom caught him behind the knees.
Marrin shielded and located the psi power source.
In the basement of the building.
He sent a tremendous wave rippling across it, poltering chairs and tables with it. The attack stopped abruptly. The place was a shambles of broken furniture.
Marrin looked around. Ecks was gone again. He searched for his identity pattern, but couldn’t locate it.
The man in the cellar?
Also gone. But a trace was left behind!
Marrin went through a window, following the trace thought. Trained for this work, he held contact with the attenuated, stifled thought as its owner shot
into the city. He followed it through a twisting maze of buildings, and out into open air.
One part of his mind was still able to probe for Ecks. No luck.
But he had Ecks’ accomplice, if he could hold him.
He shortened the distance by fractions. Ecks’ helper—and attacker—shot out of the city, heading West.
Marrin followed.
A GLASS of beer, please,” Ecks said, trying hard to catch his breath. It had been a long run. Luckily, the bartender was a Normal, and a phlegmatic one at that. He moved stolidly to the tap.
Ecks saw Cari at the end of the bar, leaning against the wall. Thank God she had remembered. He paid for his beer and carried it to where she was.
“What happened?” she asked, looking at his bruised face.
“Your nice uncle tried to kill me,” Ecks said wryly. “A health-officer came bursting in, and I let them fight it out.” Ecks had slipped out the door during the fight. He had counted on the insensitivity of his thought pattern to conceal him. Crippled, he was hardly able to broadcast an identity thought. For once, the loss of telepathic power was an asset.
Cari shook her head sadly. “I just don’t understand it,” she said. “You may not believe this, but Uncle John was always a good man. He was the most harmless person I ever knew. I just don’t understand—”
“Simple,” Ecks said. “Try to understand this. That was not Uncle John. Some highly developed psi has been masquerading as him.”
“But why?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Ecks said. “He saves me, tries to get me captured again, then tries to kill me. It doesn’t make sense.”
“What now?” she asked.
Ecks finished his beer. “Now, the end,” he said.
“Isn’t there some place we can go?” she asked. “Some place we can hide?”
“I don’t know of any,” Ecks said. “You’d better go on your own. I’m a risky person to be with.”
“I’d rather not,” Cari said.
“Why not?” Ecks wanted to know.
She looked away. “I’d just rather not.”
Even without telepathy, Ecks had an intimation of what she meant. Mentally, he cursed. He didn’t like the idea of having the responsibility of her. Psi Health must be getting desperate. They wouldn’t pull any punches this time, and she might get hurt.
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