She said carefully, “I can’t imagine her agreeing to any such thing, Mr. Dasinger! She just isn’t a . . . a violent person. I don’t think she’s ever intentionally hurt anybody.”
“And of course,” the detective said, “the Parlin family, having known her since her infancy, is quite aware of that.”
“Yes . . . I suppose so.” It was another disturbing line of thought.
Gilas said quickly, smiling, “Well, we don’t intend to Jet it come to that. In a general way though, Telzey, Gonwil’s attitudes are likely to be a handicap here. We’ll see how well we can work around them for now.”
She didn’t answer. There was, of course—as Gilas knew—a way to change Gonwil’s attitudes. But it didn’t seem necessary to mention that immediately.
Wellan Dasinger, who might be Gilas’ junior by seven or eight years, had an easy tone and manner and didn’t seem too athletically built. But somehow one gradually got the impression that he was the sort of man who would start off each day with forty push-ups and a cold needle shower as a matter of course. Telzey didn’t know what his reaction had been when Gilas told him she’s been getting information from the mind of a dog, but he discussed it with her as if it were perfectly normal procedure. Kyth operatives had been dispatched to Beale to look around for the mysterious stranger of Chomir’s memories; and Dasinger went over every detail she had obtained, unhurriedly and thoughtfully, then questioned her at length about Gonwil’s relationship to the Parlins, the vendetta stories, the maneuvering to get Gonwil married to Junior.
There seemed to be no question of Dasinger’s competence. And it was clear he didn’t like the situation.
Information began flowing back from Tayun over interstellar transmitters from various contacts of the bank and Dasinger’s agency. One item seemed to provide all the evidence needed to indicate that caution was advisable in dealing with the Parlin family. During the past two decades, the number of shareholders in Lodis Associates had diminished by almost fifty per cent. The last three to go had dropped out simultaneously after transferring their holdings to Malrue Parlin, following a disagreement with her on a matter of company policy. Some of the others had taken the same route, but rather more had died in one way and another. There had never been any investigation of the deaths. The remaining associates appeared to be uniformly staunch supporters of Mrs. Parlin’s policies.
Dasinger didn’t like that either.
“Leaving out crude measures like counterviolence,” he told Telzey, “there probably are going to be just two methods to make sure your friend gets a chance to enjoy a normal life span. One of them is to route Mrs. Parlin into Rehabilitation. If she’s tamed down, the rest of the clique shouldn’t be very dangerous. She’s obviously the organizer.”
Telzey asked uncertainly, “What’s the other method?”
“Have Miss Lodis hand over her stock to Mrs. Parlin for whatever she’s willing to pay. I doubt it would be safe to argue too strongly about the price.”
Telzey was silent a moment. “Supposing,” she said finally, “that Gonwil did agree to . . . well, counterviolence. That would be a private war—”
“Yes, we’d have to register to make it legitimate.”
“You . . . your agency . . . handles private wars?”
“Occasionally we’ll handle one,” Dasinger said. “It depends on the client and the circumstances. I’d say this is such an occasion.”
She looked at him. “Isn’t that pretty risky work?”
The detective pursed his lips judiciously.
“No, not too risky. It would be expensive and messy. Mrs. Parlin appears to be an old hand at this, but we’d restrict the main action to Orado. If she imported her own talent, they’d be at a severe disadvantage here. And the better local boys wouldn’t want any part of it after we got word around that the Kyth Agency was representing the other side. We should have the thing settled, without placing Miss Lodis in jeopardy, in about six months, even if we had to finish up on Tayun. But it appears Miss Lodis has a prejudice against such methods.”
“Yes, she does,” Telzey said. After a moment, she added, “So do I.”
“I don’t know about your friend, Miss Amberdon,” Dasinger said pleasantly, “but I expect you’ll grow out of it. At the moment though, it seems our line should be to try to manipulate Mrs. Parlin into Rehabilitation. We should know inside an hour about how good a chance we’ll have to do it. I’m waiting for a call.”
The call came in ten minutes later. It was from the Kyth Agency.
There appeared to be much Pehanron’s law courses hadn’t mentioned about the practical aspects of mind blocks.
The Tayun connection’s report to the agency was that the Parlin family had been for years on the official list of those who were provided with mind blocks for general commercial reasons. These, Dasinger explained, were expensive, high-precision jobs which ordinarily did not restrict their possessor in any noticeable way. But when specific levels of stress or fatigue were developed, the block automatically cut in to prevent the divulging of information from the areas it was set to cover.
“You see how it works,” Dasinger said. “You have the block installed, have its presence officially confirmed, and have the fact published. Thereafter, nobody who’s bothered to check the list will attempt to extort the information from you, because they know you can’t give it. The Rehabilitation machines supposedly can take down any block, but they might need a year. Otherwise, nothing I’ve ever heard of can get much through a solidly installed block . . . continuous questioning, drugs, mind probes, threats, torture, enforced sleeplessness, hypnotics . . . all that can be accomplished is to kill the blocked person eventually, and if that’s your goal there’re easier ways of going about it.”
Apparently, too, the fancier type of block did not bring on the mental deterioration she’d heard about. Malrue Parlin’s faculties obviously hadn’t been impaired.
“A commercial block of that nature,” Gilas said slowly, “presumably would cover plans to murder a business associate for profit in any case.” He looked as if he’d bitten into something sour. “When it comes to the Parlins, we can be sure it would cover them. There’ve been a number of occasions when Mrs. Parlin must have banked on that for protection if an investigation should catch up with her.”
“Getting rid of unwanted fellow associates was a business matter, so the block would automatically cover any action to that end,” Dasinger agreed.
Gilas rubbed his chin, took out a cigarette, lit it. He scowled absently at Telzey.
“Then circumstantial evidence isn’t going to get us anywhere against the lady,” he said. “Either in Federation court or in a Transcluster hearing. It’s too bad, because in a few hours this morning we’ve accumulated almost enough evidence to force the Parlins to clear themselves through a subjective probe. After we’ve sorted it over, we might find we have enough. But a subjective probe would simply confirm that they’re equipped with blocks. Tampering with a recognized block is legally equivalent to manslaughter. That would end our case.” He looked at the detective. “So what do you suggest?”
“A trap,” Dasinger said. “Now, before they find out they’re suspected. Later on they wouldn’t be likely to fall for it.”
“And how do we go about it?”
“My boys are trying to locate Junior. We’re not sure he’s in Orado City; at any rate, he hasn’t checked in at his hotel. But they should have his rooms tapped for view and sound by now, and when they find him, they’ll keep watch on him around the clock.
“Two days from now, when his parents arrive, we should be able to have them under observation before they leave the spaceport. There’s no reason to think they’ll be taking extraordinary precautions at that time, so we should very shortly pick up enough of the conversation between them and Junior to know what their plans are.
“If the plans include the immediate murder of Miss Lodis, we’ll go along with it. And with a little luck, we’ll catch either the
Parlins themselves or somebody who can be proved to be their agent in the actual attempt to commit murder. If they’re to wind up in Rehabilitation, we shouldn’t try to settle for anything less definite.”
He turned to Telzey. “Naturally, Miss Lodis won’t be the bait for our trap. We’ll have a decoy, someone who can impersonate her to the extent required. But meanwhile we may have a difficult problem in keeping her out of the way without tipping our hand—unless, of course, something can be done immediately to weaken her trust in Mrs. Parlin.”
He’d said it very casually. But he might know more about what a psi could accomplish in that direction than he’d indicated. And she could do it. It would take some time; she had found making the initial contact with the mind of a nonpsi human an involved and rather difficult process—something very different from getting into an exchange with other telepaths, and more involved by a good bit than the same proceeding had been with Chomir. But then Gonwil wouldn’t realize she was being influenced in any way while her lifelong feelings about Cousin Malrue began to change . . .
Telzey said, “I arranged with Gonwil that we’d start out on a holiday trip together after I get back to college today. We’ll take Chomir along. If we can find some place where there isn’t too much disturbance—”
Dasinger smiled, nodded. “We’ll take care of that.”
“Then,” Telzey said, “I think I could talk Gonwil into co-operating with us—before Mr. and Mrs. Parlin get here.”
“That would be very helpful! And now the dog . . . you mentioned that you should be able to find out exactly why the dog considers that unidentified stranger to be an enemy.”
“Yes,” Telzey said. Unless she was mistaken, Dasinger had a very fair picture of what she intended to do about Gonwil; and that explained, of course, why he’d accepted her account of Chomir’s adventures without question. He did know something about psis. “I think I could get that from him in another couple of hours,” she said. “We’d come pretty close to it before I had to stop this morning.”
She left the office area a few minutes later to pick up the Cloudsplitter and start back to Pehanron. She had a plan of her own, but it would be best to wait until they had Gonwil under cover somewhere before mentioning it. Gilas mightn’t like it; but she’d talk to Dasinger first to find out if it might be feasible to plant her somewhere in the immediate vicinity of the Parlins after they arrived. Gonwil would be co-operating by that time; and while she didn’t know whether she could get into a mind that was guarded by a block, it would be worth trying it if she could remain unobserved around Malrue long enough to carry out the preliminary work.
Because if she could do it, they’d do better than find out what the murder plans were. Without knowing why, Malrue would quietly give up her evil intentions towards Gonwil within a few hours, and remain incapable of developing them again or permitting her husband and son to carry on. And that would settle the whole matter in the simplest possible way.
She was approaching the exits to the upper-level parking strip where she had left the Cloudsplitter when somebody addressed her.
“Miss Amberdon! One moment, please!”
It was one of the bank guards. Telzey stopped. “Yes?”
“Mr. Amberdon’s secretary notified us just now to watch for you here,” the guard explained. “There’s an open line to her office in this combooth. She said to tell you a very important matter has come up, and you should hear about it before leaving the building.”
Telzey slipped into the booth, frowning. Gilas could have reached her through her wrist-talker while she was in the bank . . . perhaps he didn’t want to chance being overheard by some stray beam-tapper. The door closed automatically behind her as she touched the ComWeb’s button, and Ravia, Gilas’ blue-haired, highly glamorous and highly efficient secretary, appeared in the screen.
“I thought they might still catch you,” she said, smiling. “Your father would like to speak to you on a shielded line, Telzey. You’re on one now, and I’ll connect you with him.”
Her image faded. Gilas came on, said briskly, “There you are! There’s been a change of schedule. Take your car down to the general parking area. You’ll find two of Dasinger’s men waiting for you with a carrier. They’ll load on your car and take you back to Pehanron with them. We’ll brief you on the way.”
“What’s happened?” she asked, startled.
“We’ve had a very unpleasant surprise. You’d barely left when two items of information came in. The first was that Mr. and Mrs. Parlin were found listed among the passengers of a ship which berthed at the space terminal something over an hour ago. We’re having the Orado City hotels checked, but we don’t know where the pair is at present. And Junior hasn’t been found yet.” Telzey swallowed.
“Then,” Gilas went on, “I had a call from Pehanron College. I’ll give you the details on that a little later. What it seems to amount to is that the Parlins have succeeded in creating an atmosphere of alarm and confusion regarding Gonwil’s safety, which should serve to keep suspicions turned well away from them if something actually happens to her. One result is that special measures will be needed now to get Gonwil away from Pehanron without dangerous delay. You probably could handle that part of it better than any outsider. Do you want to try it?”
Telzey discovered the hand that rested on the screen button was trembling a little.
“Yes, of course,” she said.
“All right.” Gilas gave her a brief smile. “I’ll tell you the rest of it after you’re in the carrier.”
The screen went blank.
“And all I’ve been trying to do all morning,” Gonwil exclaimed, somewhere between laughter and dismay, “was to settle down quietly without interruptions to get those grisly Finance Eleven tapes cleaned up! You’d think everybody had gone out of their minds!”
Telzey looked sympathetic. Gonwil’s lunch had been delivered to her in the duplex, on Miss Eulate’s instructions; and a few college guards in civilian clothes loafed around outside, trying to look as if they’d just happened to wander into the area and weren’t really much interested in anything here. Gonwil filled Telzey in on the morning’s events while she ate lunch and Telzey thoughtfully sipped a mug of milk. The first thing Malrue Parlin and her husband had done after landing at Orado City’s spaceport was to check in at the Tayun Consulate. The first thing the consul general there, an old acquaintance, had done was to tell them about the ominous strangers who had inquired about Gonwil Lodis early in the day. And the fat was in the fire.
“Cousin Malrue went into a howling tizzy!” Gonwil reported, shuddering. “She said she’d always known it was too risky for me to be studying on Orado. So she wanted to get me away from here now, with the Parlin family, where I’d be safe. Naturally, Pehanron said, ‘No!’—and am I glad! Old Eulate’s bad enough about this, but Malrue . . .!”
“Think she might pop in on you here?”
Gonwil nodded. “The whole family plans to show up at Pehanron this evening. Malrue will be battling with Eulate—and I’ll be in the middle! And there’s no way I can stop it.”
“You wouldn’t be in the middle,” Telzey observed, “if you weren’t here.”
“If I weren’t . . .” Gonwil glanced sharply over at her, lowered her voice to a whisper. “How . . . when Eulate’s got those people staring at my front and back doors? I’m confined to quarters.”
“First step,” Telzey whispered back, “we move your tapes and stuff to my side. Eulate said under the circumstances it’d be all right if I helped you a little on the tests.”
“They can see your front and back doors, too, dopey!” Gonwil pointed out. “What good will that do?”
“They can’t see inside my carport,” Telzey whispered.
“Huh? No!” Gonwil grinned. “The shower window . . .” She looked doubtfully at Chomir. “Can we boost Musclehead through it?”
“We can try. Want to?”
“Ha! When?”
“Right now. Bef
ore Eulate realizes you’ve got a loophole left.”
“I should leave her a note,” Gonwil remarked. “Something reassuring. I simply had to get away for a few days—or suffer a nervous breakdown . . .”
“Sounds fine,” Telzey approved.
“Then, perhaps I should call Malrue and tell her, so she . . .”
“Are you out of your mind?”
Gonwil looked reluctant. “You’re right. Me being at Pehanron is bad, but going off by myself would be worse. If we didn’t agree to wait till she could pick us up outside, she’d be perfectly capable of tipping off Eulate!”
Some minutes later, Telzey came out the back door on her side of the bungalow, dressed for a town trip again. The two Pehanron guards stationed across the traffic lane eyed her as she started towards the enclosed carport, but made no move. They hadn’t been instructed to keep watch on Telzey.
Inside the stall and out of their sight, she slid behind the Cloudsplitter’s hood, roared the main engine experimentally a few times, glanced up. The shower window already stood open. Chomir’s big white head appeared in it now, pointed ears tipped questioningly forward, broad brow wrinkled in concentration. He had grasped that something unusual was required of him—but what? To look out of Telzey’s shower window?
Telzey beckoned.
“Down here, Brainless!”
She couldn’t hear Gonwil’s voice above the noise of the engine, but Chomir’s air of well-meaning bewilderment increased. Why, his eyes inquired of Telzey, was Gonwil shoving around at his rear? Then his forepaws came into view, resting on the window sill. Telzey gestured violently, pointing at the ground below the window.
Urged on from in front and behind, Chomir suddenly got the picture. He grinned, lolled out his tongue, sank back, came up and out in a flowing, graceful leap, clearing the window frame by a scant half-inch on all sides. He landed and waved his tail cheerfully at Telzey.
She caught his collar and patted him, while Gonwil, red-faced from her effort to lift more than her own weight in dog straight up, came wriggling through the shower window after him with an overnight bag containing the Finance Eleven tapes and her tapewriter. Telzey slid open the Cloudsplitter’s luggage compartment.
Complete Short Fiction (Jerry eBooks) Page 137