Chapter IV
Back again in the underground offices of C.I.B., Agent Richard Pellplunged into his job. Up to his neck. It was the only way he could keepfrom brooding about Ciel. She was somewhere in the city at this verymoment and if he really wanted to take the trouble he'd be able to findher easily enough--but he didn't want it to happen that way. She'd neverreally be his again unless _she_ came to _him_....
And so once more he found himself in the office late at night. Alone.Poring over the lab reports that had come in that afternoon, turningthem over in his mind and hoping, he supposed, for a nice intuitiveflash, free of charge.
As a matter of fact the analysis of the vaccine he'd lifted fromWilcox's dispensary was not without significance. There was definitelyan extraneous substance. The only question was just what this substancemight be. Take a little longer to find that out, the report said.
It made Pell think of the corny sign World Government officials alwayshad on their desks, the one about doing the difficult right away andtaking a little longer for the impossible. Some day, when he was abig-shot, he would have a sign on his desk saying: _Why make thingsdifficult when with even less effort you can make them impossible?_ Ofcourse, ideas like that were probably the very reason he'd never be abig-shot....
The Identifier humming. Someone coming again.
He looked up, and then had the curious feeling of being jerked back intime to several nights ago. Chief Larkin and Theodor Rysland entered.
"Hello, Dick," said Larkin, with a touch of studied democracy. Heglanced at the government adviser as if to say: _See? Knew we'd find himhere._
Pell made a sour face. "Some day I'm going to stop giving all this freeovertime. Some day I'm not going to show up at all."
Rysland smiled, dislodging some of the rock strata of his curiously paleface. He seemed a little weary this evening. He moved slowly and witheven more than his usual dignity. He said, "I hope, Mr. Pell, thatyou'll wait at least until you finish this job for us. I understandyou've made some progress."
Pell shrugged and gestured at the lab report. "Progress, maybe--but Idon't know how far. Just a bunch of new puzzles to be perfectly frank."
Rysland sat down at the other desk and drummed on it with hisfingertips. He looked at Pell gravely. "As a matter of fact, since welast talked to you the situation has become even more urgent. ASupremist congressman introduced a bill today before the world delegateswhich may prove very dangerous. Perhaps you know the one I refer to."
"I was too busy to follow the news today," said Pell, lookingmeaningfully at Larkin.
Larkin didn't seem to notice.
Rysland said, "I'll brief you then. The bill purports to prohibitmaterial aid of any kind to a non-Terran government. That means bothcredit and goods. And since the only real non-Terran government we knowis Venus, it's obviously directed specifically at the Venusians."
Pell thought it over. High level stuff again. He nodded to show hefollowed.
"On the surface," continued Rysland, "this would seem to be a sort ofanti-espionage bill. Actually, it's a deliberately provocative act. Iknow the Venusians will take it that way. But right now certain quartersare secretly trying to negotiate a trade treaty with Venus which wouldbe a major step toward peaceful relations. If this bill became law, sucha treaty would be impossible."
"But World Congress isn't likely to pass such a bill, is it? Won't theysee through it?"
Rysland frowned. "That's what we're not sure of. Messages are pouring inurging passage--all of them from Supremists, of course. The Supremistsare relatively few, but they make a lot of noise. Sometimes noise likethat is effective. It could swing a lot of delegates who don't see thereal danger of this bill and are at the moment undecided. The Defenderside, with its desire to isolate and fortify, is especiallysusceptible."
"That _is_ bad," said Pell thoughtfully.
* * * * *
Rysland put his palm on the desk. "Now then, if we can somehow discreditthe Supremists--get to the bottom of this thing quickly enough--I'm surethat bill will be killed. I came here tonight, I suppose, out of pureanxiety. In other words, Mr. Pell, just how far are you?"
Pell smiled and shook his head. "Not very, I'm afraid. This Supremistthing is the damndest I ever came across. No central headquarters, noofficers, no propaganda mill--entirely word of mouth as far as I cansee. No way of finding out how it started, or even how the new membersare proselyted. Ask any member how he became a Supremist. He just lookskind of dreamy and mutters something about the truth suddenly dawningupon him one day."
"But don't you have any theories?"
"I've got a hunch," Pell said, picking up the lab report.
Chief Larkin snorted softly. The snort said clearly enough that anefficient investigator didn't depend on hunches these days: he wentafter something doggedly on the computer, or by other approvedtechniques.
Pell pretended not to hear the snort. "First of all we discovered thatnearly all Supremists received some kind of an inoculation before theybecame Supremists. Then we found a whole village, one of those moonresort towns, that had gone over. There was the record of inoculationthere, too. I got hold of some of the vaccine and had the lab analyzeit. It's mostly vaccine all right, but there _is_ a foreign substance init. Listen." He read from the report: "_Isolated point oh six four sevengrams unclassified crystal compound, apparently form of nucleotideenzyme. Further analysis necessary._"
"You think this enzyme, or whatever it is, has something to do with it?"
"I don't know. All I have is a pretty wild theory. To begin, when ourlab can't analyze something right away, it's pretty rare--possibly evenunknown to chemistry in general. Now it's just possible that thissubstance does something to the brain that makes a man into a Supremist,and that somebody's behind the whole thing, deliberately planting thestuff so that people here and there become injected with it."
"Pell." Larkin made a pained face. "Really."
Pell shrugged. "Well, as I say, it's a hunch, that's all."
"It's a pipe dream," said Larkin. "I never heard of anything sofantastic."
"That's what folks said a couple of centuries ago when the Venusianswere first trying to make contact and their ships were sighted all overthe place. 'I never heard of anything so fantastic,' they all said."
Theodor Rysland still looked interested. "Granted there is someconnection between the Supremist mental state and this, er, enzyme. Whatthen, Mr. Pell?"
"Well," said Pell, stretching his legs out, "I had an idea maybe yourfriend Dr. Nebel could give us some help on that."
"Nebel?"
"He's interested in this thing, isn't he?"
"Definitely. Nebel's a very public spirited man."
"Well, I understand he's one of the top psychobiologists in the countrytoday. Seems to me this new enzyme, whatever it is, would be right uphis alley. Of course the lab should get to it eventually, but he mightdo it a lot quicker."
Larkin had been examining some statistical crime charts on the wall. Heturned from them. "Pell, does Kronski know about all these wild hunchesof yours?"
"I haven't talked with him about them yet. He left today before the labreport came in. Why?"
"I was just wondering," said Larkin evenly, "whether I had two maniacsin my organization or only one."
Rysland, frowning, turned to the chief. "I wouldn't be hasty, Larkin,"he said. "Crazy as it sounds Pell may have something here."
Larkin snorted again, and this time along with it he shook his headsadly.
"What's your next move then?" Rysland asked Pell.
"Tomorrow morning, first thing," Pell said, "I'll take a sample of thisstuff to Dr. Nebel and see what he can do with it. Of course the lab cankeep on working on it in the meantime."
"Don't you think you might do better to get busy on those computers?"Larkin asked.
Pell shook his head. "This hunch is too strong, Chief."
Rysland smiled, and got up. "I'm inclined to put a little stock int
othis man's hunches. He's done pretty well with them so far. I'd even sayhe's pretty close to a solution of this thing--possibly."
Larkin shrugged and started to look at the crime charts again.
Rysland held out his hand. "Good night, Mr. Pell. You've encouraged me.Larkin and I are going topside for a little night cap before we turn in.Like to join us?"
"No, thanks," said Pell. "I'm sleepy. I want to get home and hit thatsack."
"Very well. Good night again." The two men went toward the door.
Pell watched them quietly. He had lied. He wasn't sleepy at all. He justwanted to get home and sit by that viewer and hope, hope against hope,that it would ring and that Ciel's lovely image would swirl intoview....
* * * * *
On the way home he was just the least bit tempted to go topside,however. He thought he might like to walk the broad, quiet boulevardsunder the stars. His brain functioned better there. The tunnels were soclean and bright and sterile, so wonderfully functional and sensible,that they oppressed him somehow. Maybe, he sometimes thought, he wasn'tfit for this age. Maybe he should have been born a couple of hundredyears ago. But common sense told him that people in _that_ age must haveoften thought exactly the same thing to themselves.
He looked at his chrono and decided he had better go home.
The apartment, when he came to it, was cold and empty without Ciel. Hebathed and tried to keep up his spirits by singing in his tuneless way,but it didn't help.
He went back into the living room, selected a film from the library andslipped it into a lap projector. He sat down and tried to concentrate onthe film, a historical adventure about the days of the first moonrockets. He couldn't follow it.
The viewer rang.
He bounded from the chair as though he had triggered a high speedejection seat in a burning jet. He went to the viewer and flicked it on.The plate shimmered, and then Ciel's image came into focus.
"_Baby!_" He was certain his shout overmodulated every amp tube in theentire World City viewer system. But he felt better, wonderfully better,already.
She was smiling. "Hello, Dick."
"Hello."
And then they looked at each other in affectionate embarrassment for amoment.
"One of us," said Pell, "ought to have his script writer along."
"Dick, I don't know exactly how to say what I want to say...."
"Don't. Don't say anything. Just pretend nothing ever happened. Justcome on home fast as you can."
"No, Dick. Not yet. I still want to talk about--well, everything. Dick,we've got to reach some sort of compromise. There _must_ be a way."
"Come on home. We'll find a way."
"Not home. Too many memories there. Besides," she smiled a little, "Idon't trust us alone together. You know what would happen. We wouldn'tget _any_ talking done. Not any sensible talking anyway. You'd bettermeet me someplace."
He sighed. "Okay. Where can I meet you?"
"How about the Stardust Cafe?"
"Again? That place didn't help us much the last time."
"I know, but it's the handiest. I'm sure we can find a quiet place. Outon the terrace or something."
"Is there a terrace?"
"Yes, I think so. I'm sure there must be."
He looked at his chrono. "All right, baby. Half an hour?"
"Half an hour."
When she clicked off he felt his heart pounding. He felt dizzy. He feltas though he had just taken a quart of meth at one jolt--intravenously.He sang, more loudly and more off-key than ever. He went into thebedroom and started to get dressed again.
It wasn't until he was finishing the knot in his tie that the hunch hithim.
* * * * *
It was funny about that hunch. He would have said it came out ofnowhere, and yet it must have broken from the bottom of his mind throughsome kind of restraining layer into the conscious levels. He didn'tremember thinking anything that might have brought it on--his mind wasstrictly on Ciel. Maybe that was how it came through, with the attentionof his conscious mind directed elsewhere.
With the hunch he heard Ciel's voice again, heard it very clearly,saying: "_I'm sure we can find a quiet place. Out on the terrace orsomething._" And with that other things started to fall into place.
As he thought, and as the possibilities of his hunch fanned out toembrace other possibilities he became suddenly cold and sick inside. Hefought the feeling. "Got to go through with it," he muttered to himself."Got to."
As soon as he was dressed he took the tunnel cars to Station D-90,changing twice. People were aboard at this hour, returning from theevening. Lots of men and women in uniform: the green of thelandfighters, the white of the seamen, the blue of the flyers, thesilver and black of the space force. Young people. Kids mostly: kids whohad never seen war, smelled death, heard the wounded scream. He hopedthey never would. But if his hunch was correct they might be dangerouslynear to it right now.
If only he had time to call Kronski. He'd feel a lot safer....
He shook himself. Have to stop thinking about it. Proceed cautiouslynow, and take each thing as it came. That was the only thing to do.
He went topside and stepped from the elevator kiosk into the night air.Ahead he saw the bright globular sign of the Stardust Cafe. But hedidn't go toward it right away. He turned in the other direction, walkedswiftly, and kept a sharp eye on the shadows. He turned off on a sidestreet, circled a small park, and then crossed a sloping lawn toward theback of the night club. He headed for the light of the service entrance.
A half-credit bill got him inside through the back entrance. He foundthe door with the temporary sign saying: Marco the Mentalist. Heknocked.
Marco the Mentalist opened the door. He didn't look quite as tallface-to-face as he did out on the floor, nor quite as impressive. Hisface was still dark and faintly saturnine, but the jowls seemed a littlepuffier now, there was a faint network of capillaries around hisnostrils and his eyes looked just the least bit weary and tired. In apleasant enough voice he said, "Yes?"
Pell showed his C.I.B. identification.
Marco raised his eyebrows a little and said, "Come inside, please."Inside he found a chair for Pell. He sat across from him at his dressingtable, half-turned toward the room. "I must get ready for my show in alittle while. You understand that, of course."
Pell nodded. "What's on my mind won't take long. First of all, I want toask a few questions about hypnotism. They may seem silly to you, ormaybe a little elementary, but I'd like you to answer 'em just thesame."
Marco's eyebrows went a little bit higher and he said, "Proceed."
"Okay. Question number one: can anybody be hypnotized against his will?"
"Some can, some can't." Marco smiled. "The average person, under averagecircumstances--no. I appear in my act to hypnotize people against theirwills. Actually, subconsciously, they _wish_ to be hypnotized, which iswhy they volunteer to let me try in the first place."
"Okay, number two. Is there any drug that can hypnotize a person?"
Marco frowned. "Pentothal and several things _appear_ to do that. Youcould argue it either way, whether the subject is actually hypnotized ornot. I believe post-hypnotic commands have been given to subjects undersodium pentothol and carried out, even back in the dark ages ofpsychiatry several hundred years ago."
"I've got one more really important question," Pell said then. "I'dunderstood that somebody under hypnosis won't do anything against hismoral or ethical sense. An honest man, for instance, can't be forced tosteal. Is that true?"
Marco laughed and gestured with his graceful fingers. "I don't think itis true. It was once believed to be, because hypnotic technique was notstrong enough. That is, the subject's hypnosis was not strong enough toovercome a strong moral sense, which is actually a surface veneer on adeeper, more brutal nature. But I think with deep enough hypnosis, andthe right kind of command, you can get a person to do most anything inpost-hypnotic behavior--and of
course not know why he _must_ do it, evenknowing it's wrong. Do you follow me?"
"I hope I do." Then Pell leaned forward. "And now I have a very greatfavor to ask of you."
"Yes?"
"I want you to put on a little special private performance for me, righthere and now."
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"You will, in about sixty seconds. Just listen carefully...."
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