"Is that something I should worry about?"
He nodded. "The test involves deep hypnosis. It's designed to probe for any residue of instability which previous tests might have overlooked."
"Yes, but I . . ."
She paused again.
"I'm afraid that it might disclose these . . . ah . . . hallucinations that have disturbed you from time to time."
She felt faint. For a moment, the world around her seemed to dim. Piscator held her elbow and her arm to support her.
"I am sorry, but I thought it best that you be prepared."
She pulled away, saying, "I'm all right."
Then, "Godalmighty! I've had no trouble with those for eight months! I've had no dreamgum since that time you found me in the hut, and I'm sure that any residual effects are gone. Furthermore, I've never had those hallucinations except late at night when I was home. You don't really think that Firebrass would eliminate me, do you? He doesn't have enough reason to do so!"
"I don't know," Piscator said. "Perhaps the hypnosis might not uncover these attacks. In any event, if you will forgive me for trying to influence you, I think that you should go to Firebrass and tell him about your troubles. Do so before the tests are made."
"What good would that do?"
"If he finds out that you have been holding back on him, he probably would discharge you immediately. But if you are candid, confess before you get official word of the test, he might listen to your side of the case. I myself do not think that you are any danger to the welfare of the ship. But my opinion doesn't count."
"I won't beg!"
"That wouldn't influence him anyway – except negatively."
She breathed deeply and looked around, as if there might be an escape route to another world nearby. She had been so sure, so happy only a moment ago.
"Very well. There's no use putting it off."
"That's courageous," he said. "And commonsensical. I wish you luck."
"See you later," she said, and she strode off, her jaw set.
Nevertheless, by the time she had climbed the stairs to the second story, where Firebrass' apartment was, she was breathing hard, not from poor physical condition but from anxiety.
Firebrass' secretary had told her that he had gone to his suite. She was surprised at this but did not ask Agatha why he had quit work so early. Perhaps he, too, felt like relaxing.
The door to his apartment was halfway down the hall. Before it stood the bodyguard that usually accompanied him. Two assassination attempts in the last six months had made this necessary. The would-be killers had been slain themselves and thus could give no information.' No one knew for certain, but it was believed that a ruler of a hostile state down-River had sent the men. He had made no bones about his desire to get hold of Parolando's mineral wealth and marvelous machines and weapons. It was possible that he had hoped that, if he removed Firebrass, he might be able to invade Parolando. But this was all speculation by Firebrass.
Jill walked up to the ensign in command of four heavily armed men.
"I'd like to talk to the chief."
The ensign, Smithers, said "Sorry. He gave orders he wasn't to be disturbed."
"Why not?"
Smithers looked curiously at her. "I wouldn't know, sir."
Anger caused by her fear overcame her.
"I suppose he has a woman in there!"
The ensign said, "No, not that that is any of your business, sir."
He grinned maliciously and said. "He's got a visitor. A newcomer named Fritz Stern. He just got here an hour ago. He's a German, and, from what I heard, a hotshot Zeppelin man. I heard him tell the captain he was a commander for NDELAG, whatever that means. But he's got more flight time than you."
Jill had to restrain herself from hitting him in his teeth. She knew that Smithers had never liked her, and no doubt he enjoyed needling her.
"NDELAG," she said, hating herself because her voice was trembling. "That could be Neue Deutsche Luftschifffahrts-Aktien-Gesellschaft."
Now her voice seemed to be coming from far away, from someone else. "There was a Zeppelin line called DELAG in the days before World War I. It carried passengers and freight in Germany. But I never heard of an NDELAG."
"That would be because it was formed after you died,'' Smithers said. He grinned, enjoying her obvious distress. "I did hear him tell the captain that he graduated from the Friedrichshafen academy in 1984. He said he ended his career as commander of a super-Zeppelin named Viktoria."
She felt sick. First Thorn and now Stern.
There was no use staying here. She squared her shoulders and said, in a firm voice, "I'll see him later."
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," Smithers said, grinning.
Jill turned away to go back down the stairs.
She whirled around as a door banged and somebody shouted. A man had run out of Firebrass' apartment and slammed the door behind him.
He stood for several seconds, frozen, facing the guards. These were pulling their heavy pistols from their holsters. Smithers had his sword halfway from its sheath.
The man was as tall as she. He had a beautiful physique, broad shouldered, slim waisted, long legged. His face was handsome but rugged; his hair, wavy ash blond; his eyes, large and dark blue. But his skin was unhealthily pale and blood was flowing from a wound on the shoulder. He held a bloodied dagger in his left hand. Then the door opened, and Firebrass, a rapier in his hand, appeared. His face was twisted, and his forehead bled.
The ensign shouted, "Stern!"
Stern whirled and ran down the hall. There was no stairway at its end, only a tall window. Smithers cried, "Don't fire, men! He can't get away!"
"He can if he goes through the window!" Jill screamed.
At the end of the hall, Stern leaped with a shout, whirling so that his back would strike the plastic and holding an arm over his face.
The window refused to give way. Stern hit it with a thud and bounced back, falling flat with another thud on his face. He lay there while Firebrass, the ensign, and the guards behind him, ran toward Stern.
Jill followed them a second later.
Before the group could reach him, Stern got to his feet. He stared at the men racing toward him, looked at the dagger, which he had dropped on the floor when he had hit the window. Then he closed his eyes and crumpled to the floor.
Chapter 35
* * *
By the time Jill got there, Firebrass was feeling the man's pulse.
"He's dead!"
"What happened, sir?" the ensign said.
Firebrass stood up.
"I wish I could say why it happened. All I can tell you is what happened. We were getting along fine, drinking and smoking, joking, and he was giving me the details of his professional career. Everything was A-okay. And then all of a sudden he leaps up, pulls a dagger, and tries to stab me!
"He must have gone crazy, although he seemed quite rational until the moment he attacked. Something went wrong in him. Otherwise, why would he drop dead of a heart attack?"
Jill said, "A heart attack? I haven't ever heard of anyone having a heart attack here. Have you?"
Firebrass shrugged and said, "There's always a first time. After all, the resurrections have stopped, too."
"He looks bloody cyanotic for a heart attack," Jill said. "Could he have swallowed a poison? I didn't see him put anything in his mouth."
"Where would he get cyanide or prussic acid or any poison except here in Parolando?" Firebrass said. "He hasn't been here long enough to do that."
He looked at Smithers. "Wrap up the body and take it into one of my bedrooms. Take it out after midnight and drop it into The River. The dragonfish can have him."
"Yes, sir," Smithers said. "What about that cut on your forehead, sir? Should I get a doctor?"
"No, I'll patch it up myself. And not a word about this to anybody. Have you got that, all of you? You, too, Jill. Not a word. I don't want to upset the citizens."
They all nodded. Smithe
rs said, "Do you suppose that that bastard Burr sent this man, too?"
"I don't know," Firebrass said. "Or care. I just want you to get rid of him, okay?"
He turned to Jill. "What're you doing here?"
"I had something important to talk about," she said. "But I'll do it later. You're in no condition to talk."
"Nonsense!" he said, grinning. "Sure I am. You don't think this is going to shake me up, do you? Come on in, Jill, and we'll talk after I fix up this scratch."
Jill sat down in an overstaffed chair in the living room of the luxurious suite. Firebrass disappeared into the bathroom, returning after a few minutes with a white tape slanting across his forehead.
Smiling cheerily as if this were a typical day, he said, "What about a drink? It might settle your nerves."
"My nerves?"
"Okay. Both our nerves. I'll admit I'm a little shaken up. I'm no superman, no matter what people say about me."
He poured purplish skull-bloom into two tall glasses half-filled with ice cubes. Neither the ice nor the glasses, like the band-aid, were available anywhere but in Parolando – as far as she knew.
For a minute they sipped on the cool, tangy drink, their eyes meeting but neither saying a word. Then Firebrass said, "Okay. Enough of the social amenities. What did you want to see me about?"
She could scarcely get the words out. They seemed to jam in her throat, then come tumbling out, broken by the pressure.
After pausing to take a long drink, she continued more slowly and smoothly. Firebrass did not interrupt but sat immobile, his brown eyes, flecked with green, intent on hers.
"So," she finished, "there you are. I had to tell you about this, but it's the hardest thing I ever did."
"Why did you finally decide to spill it? Was it because you heard about the hypnosis?"
For a second, she thought of lying. Piscator would not betray her, and she would look so much better if she had not been forced to admit the truth.
"Yes. I heard about it. But I'd been thinking for some time that I should tell you about it. It was just . . . it was just that I couldn't bear the thought of being left behind. And I really don't think I'm a danger to the ship."
"It would be bad if you had an attack during a crucial moment of flight. You know that, of course. Well, here's the way I look at it, Jill. Barring Thorn, you're the best airshipman – I mean, person – that we have. Unlike Thorn, who was a keen airman but doesn't make aeronauting his whole life, you're a fanatic. I honestly think you'd pass up a roll in the hay for an hour's flight. Myself, I'd try to combine both.
"I wouldn't want to lose you, and if I had to, I'd worry about your killing yourself. No, don't protest, I really think you would. Which makes you unbalanced in that respect. However, I have to consider the welfare of ship and crew first, so I'd discharge you if I had to, no matter how much it would grieve me.
"So I'm putting you on probation. If you don't have another attack or hallucination from now until the ship takes off for the big voyage, then you'll be in.
"The only trouble with this is that I'll have to depend on your word for it that you've not had an attack. Well, not really. I could put you under hypnosis to find out if you've been telling the truth. But I don't like to do that. It'd mean I don't trust you. I don't want anybody on the ship I can't trust one hundred percent."
Jill felt like running over to him and throwing her arms around him. Her eyes filmed, and she almost sobbed with joy. But she stayed in her chair. An officer did not embrace the captain. Besides, he might misinterpret her behavior and try to take her into his bedroom.
She felt ashamed of herself. Firebrass would never take advantage of any woman. He would scorn using his influence. At least, she thought he would.
"I don't understand about this hypnosis," she said. "How could you make all the others go through with it but omit me? That's discrimination which the others . . ."
"I've changed my mind about that."
He got up and walked to a rolltop desk, bent over it to write on a piece of paper, and then gave it to her.
"Here. Take this down to Doc Graves. He'll take an X-ray of you."
She was bewildered. "Whatever on earth for?"
"As your captain I could tell you to shut up and obey my order. I won't because you'd be resentful. Let's just say it's something the psychologists learned in 2000 A.D. It would defeat the purpose of the test if I told you what it was all about.
"Everybody else will have to be X-rayed, too. You have the honor of being the first."
"I don't understand," she murmured. "But I'll do it, of course."
She rose. "Thank you."
"No thanks necessary. Now get your tail down to Doc Graves.''
When she arrived at the doctor's office, she found him talking on the phone. He was frowning and chewing his cigar savagely.
"All right, Milt. I'll do it. But I don't like it that you won't confide in me."
He hung the phone up and turned to her." Hello, Jill. You'll have to wait until Ensign Smithers gets here. He'll pick up the X-ray photos as soon as they're made and run them up to Firebrass."
"He has a darkroom?"
"No. They don't need developing. Didn't you know? They're just like other photographs, electronically processed at the moment they're taken. Firebrass himself designed the equipment. It's a process developed about 1998, he said."
Graves began striding back and forth, biting hard oh the cigar.
"Damn it! He won't even let me see the X-rays! Why?"
"He said he didn't want anyone but himself to see the X-rays .It's part of the psychological evaluation tests–."
"How in hell could X-rays of the head tell you anything about a man's psyche? Is he nuts?"
"I suppose he'll tell us all about it when he's seen all the photos. By the way, speaking of a man's psyche, I'm not a man."
"I was speaking in the abstract."
He stopped and scowled even more fiercely. "I won't be able to sleep nights worrying about this. Man, I wish I'd lived longer. I shuffled off this mortal coil in 1980, so I didn't get to see the later developments in medical science. Just as well, I suppose. I couldn't keep up with the deluge of new stuff as it was."
Turning to Jill, and stabbing the cigar at her, he said, "Something I'd like to ask you, Jill. Something that's been bothering me. Firebrass is the only one I've ever met who lived beyond 1983. Have you ever met anyone who did?"
She blinked with surprise. "No-o-o. No, I haven't, now I think about it. Firebrass excepted."
For a moment, she had been about to tell him about Stern. That was going to be a hard secret to keep.
"Neither have I. Damn peculiar."
"Not really," she said. "Of course, I haven't been all over The River, but I have traveled several hundred thousand kilometers and talked to thousands of people. The twentieth-century people seem to have been scattered thinly everywhere. If they were resurrected in clumps, as it were, I never heard of any. So that means that anywhere in the Valley you'll likely find a few, but most of the population segments will be from other centuries.
"So there's nothing remarkable in the rarity of people born after 1983."
"Yeah? Maybe so. Ah, here comes Smithers and two other thugs. Step into my X-rated parlor, my dear, as the spider said to the fly."
Chapter 36
* * *
Extracts from various editions of The Daily Leak:
Dmitri "Mitya" Ivanovitch Nikitin is pro tempore pilot third officer of the Parseval. He was born in 1885 in Gomel, Russia, of middle-class parents. His father was a harness-factory owner; his mother taught piano. His qualifications for candidacy were based on his experience as chief steersman of the Russie, a French airship built by the Lebaudy-Juillot Company in 1909 for the Russian government.
Ms. Jill Gulbirra, chief airship instructor, says that Mitya's experience was rather limited from her viewpoint, but he has shown excellent ability. However, according to rumors, he is too fond of skull-bloom. Take a t
ip from us, Mitya. Lay off the booze.
. . . Charges will not be brought by the editor against Pilot Nikitin. During a necessarily brief interview in the hospital, Mr. Bagg said, "I've been laid out by better men than that big slob. The next time he comes charging into my office, I'll be prepared. The reason I'm not having him arrested isn't just because I have a big heart, however. I just want a chance to personally knock his brains out. Speak softly and carry a big stick."
. . . Ettore Arduino is Italian (what else?), but he is blond and blue-eyed and can pass for a Swede as long as he keeps his mouth shut and doesn't eat garlic. As all but new citizens know, he entered Parolando two months ago and was immediately signed up for training. He has an illustrious though tragic history, having been chief motor engineer on the airship Norge and then on the Italia under Umberto Nobile. (See page 6 for a minibiography of this son of Rome.) The Norge accomplished its primary mission to fly over the North Pole on May 12, 1926. It also established that there was no large land mass between the North Pole and Alaska as reported by that great explorer, Commodore Robert E. Peary (1856-1920), the first man to reach the North Pole (1909). (Though Peary was accompanied by a Negro, Matthew Henson, and four Eskimos whose names we don't remember, actually Henson was the first man to stand on the North Pole.)
The Italia, after passing over the Pole, found itself bucking a very strong headwind on its way to King's Bay. The controls jammed from heavy icing; a crash seemed assured. However, the ice melted, and the airship proceeded. Some time later, the vessel began to fall slowly. The helpless crew was forced to stand by while the queen of the skies struck the surface ice. The control gondola was torn off, a fortuitous event for those in it. These scrambled out and then looked up in shock as the dirigible, freed of the weight of the gondola, rose again.
Ettore Arduino was last seen standing on the gangway to the starboard engine gondola. As reported by a crew member, Dr. Francis Behounek of the Wireless Institute of Prague, Czechoslovakia, Arduino's face was a mask of utter disbelief. The Italia floated away, and nothing of it or the men still aboard was ever seen again. On Earth, that is.
R.W. III - The Dark Design Page 25