A series of brilliantly clear pictures flashed for an instant through George’s mind . . . Martha’s letter arriving with the morning mail in the offices of Spurgeon & Sanders, with two cents to collect on it. Uncle Don calling the Hamilton Hotel immediately, hearing that Mrs. Redfern had not checked in and, alarmed, notifying the police, who had just finished establishing the identity of the two dead occupants of a savagely smashed automobile in the hills.
Cynthia Haley, who could testify it was George who had put the two-cent stamps on Martha’s letters.
The mailman standing right here, wondering about Mr. Redfern’s extraordinary reaction to the fact that two of the letters had not been returned. . . .
“Mr. Redfern,” the mailman’s voice was saying, “why, you’re shaking all over now! Mr. Redfern?”
The police came to a stop.
NOVICE
A novice is one who is inexperienced—but that doesn’t mean incompetent. Nor does it mean stupid!
There was, Telzey Amberdon thought, someone besides TT and herself in the garden. Not, of course, Aunt Halet, who was in the house waiting for an early visitor to arrive, and not one of the servants. Someone or something else must be concealed among the thickets of magnificently flowering native Jontarou shrubs about Telzey.
She could think of no other way to account for Tick-Tock’s spooked behavior—nor, to be honest about it, for the manner her own nerves were acting up without visible cause this morning.
Telzey plucked a blade of grass, slipped the end between her lips and chewed it gently, her face puzzled and concerned. She wasn’t ordinarily afflicted with nervousness. Fifteen years old, genius level, brown as a berry and not at all bad looking in her sunbriefs, she was the youngest member of one of Orado’s most prominent families and a second-year law student at one of the most exclusive schools in the Federation of the Hub. Her physical, mental, and emotional health, she’d always been informed, was excellent. Aunt Halet’s frequent cracks about the inherent instability of the genius level could be ignored; Halet’s own stability seemed questionable at best.
But none of that made the present odd situation any less disagreeable . . .
The trouble might have begun, Telzey decided, during the night, within an hour after they arrived from the spaceport at the guest house Halet had rented in Port Nichay for their vacation on Jontarou. Telzey had retired at once to her second-story bedroom with Tick-Tock; but she barely got to sleep before something awakened her again. Turning over, she discovered TT reared up before the window, her forepaws on the sill, big cat-head outlined against the star-hazed night sky, staring fixedly down into the garden.
Telzey, only curious at that point, climbed out of bed and joined TT at the window. There was nothing in particular to be seen, and if the scents and minor night-sounds which came from the garden weren’t exactly what they were used to, Jontarou was after all an unfamiliar planet. What else would one expect here?
But Tick-Tock’s muscular back felt tense and rigid when Telzey laid her arm across it, and except for an absent-minded dig with her forehead against Telzey’s shoulder, TT refused to let her attention be distracted from whatever had absorbed it. Now and then, a low, ominous rumble came from her furry throat, a half-angry, half-questioning sound. Telzey began to feel a little uncomfortable. She managed finally to coax Tick-Tock away from the window, but neither of them slept well the rest of the night. At breakfast, Aunt Halet made one of her typical nasty-sweet remarks.
“You look so fatigued, dear—as if you were under some severe mental strain . . . which, of course, you might be,” Halet added musingly. With her gold-blond hair piled high on her head and her peaches and cream complexion, Halet looked fresh as a daisy herself . . . a malicious daisy. “Now wasn’t I right in insisting to Jessamine that you needed a vacation away from that terribly intellectual school?” She smiled gently.
“Absolutely,” Telzey agreed, restraining the impulse to fling a spoonful of egg yolk at her father’s younger sister. Aunt Halet often inspired such impulses, but Telzey had promised her mother to avoid actual battles on the Jontarou trip, if possible. After breakfast, she went out into the back garden with Tick-Tock, who immediately walked into a thicket, camouflaged herself and vanished from sight. It seemed to add up to something. But what?
Telzey strolled about the garden a while, maintaining a pretense of nonchalant interest in Jontarou’s flowers and colorful bug life. She experienced the most curious little chills of alarm from time to time, but discovered no signs of a lurking intruder, or of TT either. Then, for half an hour or more, she’d just sat cross-legged in the grass, waiting quietly for Tick-Tock to show up of her own accord. And the big lunk-head hadn’t obliged.
Telzey scratched a tanned knee-cap, scowling at Port Nichay’s park trees beyond the garden wall. It seemed idiotic to feel scared when she couldn’t even tell whether there was anything to be scared about! And, aside from that, another unreasonable feeling kept growing stronger by the minute now. This was to the effect that she should be doing some unstated but specific thing . . .
In fact, that Tick-Tock wanted her to do some specific thing!
Completely idiotic!
Abruptly, Telzey closed her eyes, thought sharply, “Tick-Tock?” and waited—suddenly very angry at herself for having given in to her fancies to this extent—for whatever might happen.
She had never really established that she was able to tell, by a kind of symbolic mind-picture method, like a short waking dream, approximately what TT was thinking and feeling. Five years before, when she’d discovered Tick-Tock—an odd-looking and odder-behaved stray kitten then—in the woods near the Amberdons’ summer home on Orado, Telzey had thought so. But it might never have been more than a colorful play of her imagination; and after she got into law school and grew increasingly absorbed in her studies, she almost forgot the matter again.
Today, perhaps because she was disturbed about Tick-Tock’s behavior, the customary response was extraordinarily prompt. The warm glow of sunlight shining through her closed eyelids faded out quickly and was replaced by some inner darkness. In the darkness there appeared then an image of Tick-Tock sitting a little way off beside an open door in an old stone wall, green eyes fixed on Telzey. Telzey got the impression that TT was inviting her to go through the door, and, for some reason, the thought frightened her.
Again, there was an immediate reaction. The scene with Tick-Tock and the door vanished; and Telzey felt she was standing in a pitch-black room, knowing that if she moved even one step forwards, something that was waiting there silently would reach out and grab her.
Naturally, she recoiled . . . and at once found herself sitting, eyes still closed and the sunlight bathing her lids, in the grass of the guest house garden.
She opened her eyes, looked around. Her heart was thumping rapidly. The experience couldn’t have lasted more than four or five seconds, but it had been extremely vivid, a whole, compact little nightmare. None of her earlier experiments at getting into mental communication with TT had been like that.
It served her right, Telzey thought, for trying such a childish stunt at the moment! What she should have done at once was to make a methodical search for the foolish beast—TT was bound to be somewhere nearby—locate her behind her camouflage, and hang on to her then until this nonsense in the garden was explained! Talented as Tick-Tock was at blotting herself out, it usually was possible to spot her if one directed one’s attention to shadow patterns. Telzey began a surreptitious study of the flowering bushes about her.
Three minutes later, off to her right, where the ground was banked beneath a six-foot step in the garden’s terraces, Tick-Tock’s outline suddenly caught her eye. Flat on her belly, head lifted above her paws, quite motionless, TT seemed like a transparent wraith stretched out along the terrace, barely discernible even when stared at directly. It was a convincing illusion; but what seemed to be rocks, plant leaves, and sun-splotched earth seen through the wraith-outline was simpl
y the camouflage pattern TT had printed for the moment on her hide. She could have changed it completely in an instant to conform to a different background.
Telzey pointed an accusing finger.
“See you!” she announced, feeling a surge of relief which seemed as unaccountable as the rest of it.
The wraith twitched one ear in acknowledgment, the head outlines shifting as the camouflaged face turned towards Telzey. Then the inwardly uncamouflaged, very substantial looking mouth opened slowly, showing Tick-Tock’s red tongue and curved white tusks. The mouth stretched in a wide yawn, snapped shut with a click of meshing teeth, became indistinguishable again. Next, a pair of camouflaged lids drew back from TT’s round, brilliant-green eyes. The eyes stared across the lawn at Telzey.
Telzey said irritably, “Quit clowning around, TT!”
The eyes blinked, and Tick-Tock’s natural bronze-brown color suddenly flowed over her head, down her neck and across her body into legs and tail. Against the side of the terrace, as if materializing into solidity at that moment, appeared two hundred pounds of supple, rangy, long-tailed cat . . . or catlike creature. TT’s actual origin had never been established. The best guesses were that what Telzey had found playing around in the woods five years ago was either a bio-structural experiment which had got away from a private laboratory on Orado, or some spaceman’s lost pet, brought to the capital planet from one of the remote colonies beyond the Hub. On top of TT’s head was a large, fluffy pompom of white fur, which might have looked ridiculous on another animal, but didn’t on her. Even as a fat kitten, hanging head down from the side of a wall by the broad sucker pads in her paws, TT had possessed enormous dignity.
Telzey studied her, the feeling of relief fading again. Tick-Tock, ordinarily the most restful and composed of companions, definitely was still tensed up about something. That big, lazy yawn a moment ago, the attitude of stretched-out relaxation . . . all pure sham!
“What is eating you?” she asked in exasperation.
The green eyes stared at her, solemn, watchful, seeming for that fleeting instant quite alien. And why, Telzey thought, should the old question of what Tick-Tock really was pass through her mind just now? After her rather alarming rate of growth began to taper off last year, nobody had cared any more.
For a moment, Telzey had the uncanny certainty of having had the answer to this situation almost in her grasp. An answer which appeared to involve the world of Jontarou, Tick-Tock, and of all unlikely factors—Aunt Halet.
She shook her head, TT’s impassive green eyes blinked.
Jontarou? The planet lay outside Telzey’s sphere of personal interests, but she’d read up on it on the way here from Orado. Among all the worlds of the Hub, Jontarou was the paradise for zoologists and sportsmen, a gigantic animal preserve, its continents and seas swarming with magnificent game. Under Federation law, it was being retained deliberately in the primitive state in which it had been discovered. Port Nichay, the only city, actually the only inhabited point on Jontarou, was beautiful and quiet, a pattern of vast but elegantly slender towers, each separated from the others by four or five miles of rolling parkland and interconnected only by the threads of transparent skyways. Near the horizon, just visible from the garden, rose the tallest towers of all, the green and gold spires of the Shikaris’ Club, a center of Federation affairs and of social activity. From the aircar which brought them across Port Nichay the evening before, Telzey had seen occasional strings of guest houses, similar to the one Halet had rented, nestling along the park slopes.
Nothing very sinister about Port Nichay or green Jontarou, surely!
Halet? That blond, slinky, would-be Machiavelli? What could—?
Telzey’s eyes narrowed reflectively. There’d been a minor occurrence—at least, it had seemed minor—just before the spaceliner docked last night. A young woman from one of the newscasting services had asked for an interview with the daughter of Federation Councilwoman Jessamine Amberdon. This happened occasionally; and Telzey had no objections until the newshen’s gossipy persistence in inquiring about the “unusual pet” she was bringing to Port Nichay with her began to be annoying. TT might be somewhat unusual, but that was not a matter of general interest; and Telzey said so. Then Halet moved smoothly into the act and held forth on Tick-Tock’s appearance, habits, and mysterious antecedents, in considerable detail.
Telzey had assumed that Halet was simply going out of her way to be irritating, as usual. Looking back on the incident, however, it occurred to her that the chatter between her aunt and the newscast woman had sounded oddly stilted—almost like something the two might have rehearsed.
Rehearsed for what purpose? Tick-Tock . . . Jontarou.
Telzey chewed gently on her lower lip. A vacation on Jontarou for the two of them and TT had been Halet’s idea, and Halet had enthused about it so much that Telzey’s mother at last talked her into accepting. Halet, Jessamine explained privately to Telzey, had felt they were intruders in the Amberdon family, had bitterly resented Jessamine’s political honors and, more recently, Telzey’s own emerging promise of brilliance. This invitation was Halet’s way of indicating a change of heart. Wouldn’t Telzey oblige?
So Telzey had obliged, though she took very little stock in Halet’s change of heart. She wasn’t, in fact, putting it past her aunt to have some involved dirty trick up her sleeve with this trip to Jontarou. Halet’s mind worked like that.
So far there had been no actual indications of purposeful mischief. But logic did seem to require a connection between the various puzzling events here . . . A newscaster’s rather forced looking interest in Tick-Tock—Halet could easily have paid for that interview. Then TT’s disturbed behavior during their first night in Port Nichay, and Telzey’s own formless anxieties and fancies in connection with the guest house garden.
The last remained hard to explain. But Tick-Tock . . . and Halet . . . might know something about Jontarou that she didn’t know.
Her mind returned to the results of the half-serious attempt she’d made to find out whether there was something Tick-Tock “wanted her to do.” An open door? A darkness where somebody waited to grab her if she took even one step forwards? It couldn’t have had any significance. Or could it?
So you’d like to try magic, Telzey scoffed at herself. Baby games . . . How far would you have got at law school if you’d asked TT to help with your problems?
Then why had she been thinking about it again?
She shivered, because an eerie stillness seemed to settle on the garden. From the side of the terrace, TT’s green eyes watched her.
Telzey had a feeling of sinking down slowly into a sunlit dream, into something very remote from law school problems.
“Should I go through the door?” she whispered.
The bronze cat-shape raised its head slowly. TT began to purr.
Tick-Tock’s name had been derived in kittenhood from the manner in which she purred—a measured, oscillating sound, shifting from high to low, as comfortable and often as continuous as the unobtrusive pulse of an old clock. It was the first time, Telzey realized now, that she’d heard the sound since their arrival on Jontarou. It went on for a dozen seconds or so, then stopped. Tick-Tock continued to look at her.
It appeared to have been an expression of definite assent . . .
The dreamlike sensation increased, hazing over Telzey’s thoughts. If there was nothing to this mind-communication thing, what harm could symbols do? This time, she wouldn’t let them alarm her. And if they did mean something . . .
She closed her eyes.
The sunglow outside faded instantly. Telzey caught a fleeting picture of the door in the wall, and knew in the same moment that she’d already passed through it.
She was not in the dark room then, but poised at the edge of a brightness which seemed featureless and without limit, spread out around her with a feeling-tone like “sea” or “sky.” But it was an unquiet place. There was a sense of unseen things on all sides watching her and
waiting.
Was this another form of the dark room—a trap set up in her mind? Telzey’s attention did a quick shift. She was seated in the grass again; the sunlight beyond her closed eyelids seemed to shine in quietly through rose-tinted curtains. Cautiously, she let her awareness return to the bright area; and it was still there. She had a moment of excited elation. She was controlling this! And why not, she asked herself. These things were happening in her mind, after all!
She would find out what they seemed to mean; but she would be in no rush to . . .
An impression as if, behind her, Tick-Tock had thought, “Now I can help again!”
Then a feeling of being swept swiftly, irresistibly forwards, thrust out and down. The brightness exploded in thundering colors around her. In fright, she made the effort to snap her eyes open, to be back in the garden; but now she couldn’t make it work. The colors continued to roar about her, like a confusion of excited, laughing, triumphant voices. Telzey felt caught in the middle of it all, suspended in invisible spider webs. Tick-Tock seemed to be somewhere nearby, looking on. Faithless, treacherous TT!
Telzey’s mind made another wrenching effort, and there was a change. She hadn’t got back into the garden, but the noisy, swirling colors were gone and she had the feeling of reading a rapidly moving microtape now, though she didn’t actually see the tape.
The tape, she realized, was another symbol for what was happening, a symbol easier for her to understand. There were voices, or what might be voices, around her; on the invisible tape she seemed to be reading what they said.
A number of speakers, apparently involved in a fast, hot argument about what to do with her. Impressions flashed past . . .
Why waste time with her? It was clear that kitten-talk was all she was capable of!. . . Not necessarily; that was a normal first step. Give her a little time!. . . But what—exasperatedly—could such a small-bite possibly know that would be of significant value?
Complete Short Fiction (Jerry eBooks) Page 98