He glanced down the empty spiral of the staircase and then at his Key. The five minutes Dekko had told him to wait was not yet up. He envisioned one of the men in body armor coming down to him, then changed his mind. The steps were too light. He backed into a corner of the landing and stood waiting, staring up the curve of the stair, where it bent out of sight beyond its own railing and the floor of the curve above him.
Pat-pause, pat-pause, pat-pause. A head bobbed into sight around the curve of the railing and turned toward him, continuing down. He stood caught in the paralysis of shock. It was Melee.
She did not say anything, or change her pace, but continued to descend toward him at the same slow rate. Her hands were pressed together at a point just below her throat and above her breasts. Her slim, white hands were pale against the soft green of her tunic, and her oval face above them was pale, pale under her auburn hair. She looked at Kil with wide, shocked eyes.
"Melee—" he said, huskily.
She opened her mouth as if to answer him, but she said nothing. She stepped carefully down the last two steps and came slowly to him across the landing. As she reached him, her knees buckled and he caught her, easing her to the landing and himself with her, so that he sat on the top stair, holding her against him. She lay with her head against his chest, still holding her hands pressed tightly to her. Her eyelids fluttered, and she gazed at him with a wondering look.
"Kil—?" she said. It was more a small whimper than a word.
"Melee," he said. "Are you hurt? Let me see."
He pulled her hands away. There was a singed hole in the tunic and a little spot of red. It was high on her chest and did not look serious, but when he tried to open the tunic, she stopped him.
"No," she murmured. "Ugly now. I don't want you to see."
"Melee, we've got to fix it!"
"No," she shook her head slowly, rolling it from side to side. "All gone inside. Don't."
"Wait here," said Kil, trying to stand up. "I'll go get help."
"No. No good." She held to him. "Stay with me, Kil . . . Kil?"
He sat back.
"I'm here."
"Doesn't . . . hurt. . . ."
"Good. That's good, Melee."
She choked; and though she held her lips tightly, a little blood came through. She made a protesting sound. Kil fumbled for a handkerchief and wiped her lips.
"Ugly," she said again. Tears stood suddenly in her eyes. "You never . . . want to kiss me, now."
He bent his head and kissed her lips.
"Oh . . . Kil . . ." the tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. "Wipe . . ." she said. "Please . . ."
Kil dried her eyes gently with a clean section of the handkerchief.
"Hush," he said. "Don't talk."
"Love you . . . Kil. . . ."
"Shh," he said. He kissed her again, and smoothed back the hair from her eyes. A wetness 6n the hand he pressed against her back, holding her, drew his attention. He lifted it up momentarily, looking at it over her shoulder. There was blood on it. He put it back.
"Hush," he said, again.
"Never liked . . . Mali much . . ." her face twisted with hurt for a second. "Tried . . ." She was silent for a moment. "My brother . . ." But she did not finish.
Her eyes closed. After a little while they flew open suddenly.
"Kil—" she said. "Don't go—"
"I'm not leaving," he said. "I'll stay right here."
She breathed out as if in relief and her eyes closed again. She did not say anything more. After a while her mouth relaxed and a little more blood ran out. Carefully he wiped it away and saw that she had stopped breathing. He continued to sit there, holding her; and when the Police came at last and found them, they took him without any trouble.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Police psychiatrist tapped with his pen on the surface of his desk. The small,' hard noise of it was sterile in the silence of the office.
"Mr. Bruner," he said, "you're resisting me."
"Why shouldn't I?" demanded Kil.
The psychiatrist sighed and put down the pen and rubbed one hand wearily across his eyes. With his face relaxed, he looked younger than he had, a lean young man with hair receding sharply from the temples. He put his hand back on the desk and leaned forward again.
"We do what we have to," he murmured, almost to himself. "Mr. Bruner, were your physical relationships with your wife—"
"Go to hell!" said Kil.
The psychiatrist nodded slowly and relaxed back into his chair.
"Yes," he said. "Why not? This isn't the kind of job I'm supposed to do, anyhow." He got up briskly and suddenly, as if he had just come to a decision. "Wait here," he said and went out.
Kil waited. He had been in deadlock with the psychiatrist since the Police had brought him here to Headquarters, four hours ago. A little more time would make no difference.
The psychiatrist did not come back. What did come were two Policemen who escorted him to another office, a larger one this time. Inside, the psychiatrist waited for him; and another man, a heavy, balding man in advanced middle age with a thick, reddish complexion. Both men showed the bright eyes and flushed faces of anger. Both were standing and they turned on Kil as he entered.
"Get out," said the heavy man. The two Policemen left, closing the door behind them. "So you're Bruner."
"Yes, said Kil.
"This is Hagar Kai, Mr. Bruner," put in the psychiatrist, "present six-month head of the Police."
"I'll handle this!" said the Police head. "You don't seem to realize what you're up against, Bruner. We've just caught you red-handed in conspiracy and armed violation of the Peace. Do you know what that means? Do you?"
"No," replied Kil.
He looked at Hagar Kai. A strange thing was happening to him. Kai's anger, the unjustness of the accusation, above all, everything he had been through that day, now culminating in this, should by all the ingrained patterns of his nature have evoked his furious resentment. It had always been that way with him.
But now there was nothing. Kil's emotions lay still and cold. He saw through the rage and bluster of the Police head as through a clear pane of glass. The man was bluffing. What's more he was making himself look ridiculous in the process.
"No, I don't know," said Kil.
"Well, you'll find out."
"Suppose," Kil said. "You tell me what you want."
"Some straight answers, that's what we want!" Hagar Kai thumped the desk before him with his fist; and then, when Kil's expression did not change at this, let the hand drop limply at his side. "It's no use, Alben," he said, turning to the psychiatrist. "He doesn't want to help himself."
The psychiatrist said nothing. Hagar Kai turned back to Kil.
"I wouldn't bother with you if it wasn't for the fact your friend with the gun, and the hunchback, got away," he said, harshly. "As it is I'll give you one more chance to tell us. Where's McElroy?"
Even Kil's new self-control was not capable of taking this without staggering. He stared at Hagar Kai.
"McElroy?" he repeated.
The Police Head stared at him apoplectically.
"Don't you know?" said Kil, foolishly.
"Where is he?"
A small light of understanding began to illuminate the murky confusion in Kil's mind.
"So McElroy is the Commissioner, after all," he said. He shook his head at Hagar Kai. "How should I know where he is?"
Hagar Kai threw up both hands in a gesture of exhausted patience and dropped heavily into a chair behind the desk.
"I still suggest," the psychiatrist said, "that you try explaining to him, first."
"All right. All right!" Hagar Kai rested his arms on the desk and glared up at Kil. "Although he knows more about it than I do. Here it is, Bruner. We know you were working with McElroy—"
"What?"
"Now, don't bother to deny that. He put you on the payroll of his section when you came to see him about your wife. I say, we know you were
working for him. He was engaged on a special case and thought you might help. Now—"
"What case?"
"You know as well as I dol" snarled Hagar Kai. Kil looked narrowly at him.
"Not—" he said, "the Project?"
"Damn it, Alben!" exploded the Police head, swinging around upon the psychiatrist. "I told you he knows all about everything!"
"If he doesn't, he's learning fast," retorted the psychiatrist, drily. "With your help."
Caught short, Hagar Kai checked himself and threw a startled glance at Kil. He turned back to the attack.
"What do you know about the Project?"
"I've heard about it," said Kil.
"And what else have you heard about?"
"Sub-E," said Kil, "the Societies, the O.T.L." He paused. "The Commissioner."
"There!" cried the Police head. "You admit knowing about McElroy."
"I don't know anything about McElroy!" retorted Kil. "I just happened to hear that he was known as the Commissioner. And while we're at it, as a citizen I'd like to know why you, as the responsible man in the Police, have been letting someone else without legal authority take over part of your powers."
"The Police was set up in a way that kept its hands tied," replied Kai, harshly. "We're all held down to six months in one post, too. Besides there's the restriction that no one man can hold the post I'm in more than once in his lifetime: You can't run an organization under those conditions." He stopped suddenly, staring at Kil. "What do you mean as a citizen? You're under arrest. You haven't any citizenship rights."
"Now, hold on, Kai—" began the psychiatrist.
"Shut up, Alben. It's my responsibility and my authority. Well, Bruner, do you want to go on with this farce of pretending there's things I can tell you about this situation?"
"Please," said Kil, grimly.
"All right. I'll make it short and sweet. McElroy left his office here to work with you. All we got from him were messages, the last of which was to pick you up for a security check. You know the results of that. Now we've got information that the Societies are planning a revolution—and we've lost contact with McElroy. He doesn't check with us, and we've no way of locating him. Maybe, even, he's sold us out to the Societies. We won't know until we find him. And the quickest way to find him is have you tell us where he is."
"I tell you," said Kil, "I don't know. From that first day when I spoke to him here, I've never seen him again."
"You're a liar. But you're going to tell us the truth." Kai leaned forward and his eyes glittered. "The world is ready to blow up and if you think I'm going to let due process of law stand in my way at this late hour, you're badly mistaken. There's ways to get information out of men like you and here at Headquarters is as good a place as any to put them to use. You had your chance. Now I'll do it my way. I'm going to have you—"
"All right, Kai!" broke in the psychiatrist, suddenly. "That's enough. If you're planning anything like that for this man, you should've left me out of the room where I couldn't hear it. I can't let you do this."
Hagar Kai swung on the other like a cornered bull.
"Can't?"
"Won't." The psychiatrist's face was pale except for two spots of burning color on his lean cheeks. "If you're going to make this man disappear while you work information out of him, you're going to have to make me disappear, too—and I'll leave it up to you to take on the Psychiatric Association when I don't show up at home for dinner tonight."
They locked eyes.
"Alben, you young fool," said Kai, hoarsely. "I knew your father. I've known you for thirty years. I—"
The psychiatrist said nothing. He stood immovable, his eyes unwavering and uncompromising.
The Police head slumped into his chair.
There was silence in the office. Finally, after a long minute, the man named Alben spoke.
"Sorry, Kai," he said. "But I think he's telling the truth. And even if he is isn't— there's no exception to justice."
"Go on, get out of here, both of you," said Kai. "No, wait—" he raised his head and gazed burningly at Kil, "not you. If I can't go outside the law, I can at least give you all the law allows. Did you ever hear of Class Four?"
"Class Four?" echoed Kil. "Unstab Class Four?"
"Yes."
Kil shook his head. "No. There's only three classes, Stab, or Unstab."
"You're wrong," said the Police Head, in a heavy voice, "there's an Unstab Class Four. For active enemies, violators of Peace."
In spite of himself, Kil felt a queer shrinking inside him.
"How much?" he said. "How much time do you have in that?"
Hagar Kai looked at him.
"Twenty-four hours," he said. "Every twenty-four hours you move. Three hundred and sixty-five different locations every year. You'll sleep in a transient hotel every night. Your food, and drink and clothing, will be handouts from the Police, one day's supply at a time."
The words dropped on Kil's ear like stones, one by one, into a deep well.
"You can't do that!" cried Kil. "My wife—I've got to look for my wife—" he caught himself suddenly.
"Look where you like," said Hagar Kai, "as long as you never look for more than a day in any one place. And I wish you luck, Bruner." He sat leaning forward and watching Kil. Kil stood silent, seeing the man's purpose now and refusing to be drawn. The silence stretched out in the office.
Five minutes later, they put him out through one of the gates to Headquarters. Two Policemen had stripped the old Key from his wrist and escorted him there. Now, as he stood in the open street, they handed him a new Key and a meager roll of possessions, one change of clothing, some toilet articles and three small food packages.
"Put the Key on," ordered the younger of the two. He was a round-faced boy barely out of his teens, and this sort of thing was obviously new to him. He spoke with a gruffness and glare that did not succeed in covering up the embarrassment and a sort of horrified sympathy in him.
Automatically, Kil took the Key and roll. He stood looking at them for a moment in his hands, the couple of pounds of small things that were now his total estate and his life. For a long moment he looked at them; and then he handed them back to the young Policeman.
"No thanks," he said, gently. "I don't think I'll be wanting these after all."
And the world seemed to fall like a cloak from his shoulders, as he turned and went.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
On the third day after that, Dekko found him.
Kil had come to a halt finally a little back in the Cascade mountains, where they run into British Columbia, Canada. The aircab that had brought him out from Vancouver glittered a little foolishly on the rocky hillside in the thin, brilliant sun of early mountain morning, as if it could not quite reconcile itself to being so far from civilization. Kil sat apart from it, before a little fire of dry branches—for the morning was cool—staring unseeingly at the almost invisible flames.
Suddenly a speck in the air grew to a recognizable shape of another aircab and this came on, as an eagle sheered away suspiciously, to land on the slope beside Kil's vehicle. Kil looked up, but did not stir, as Dekko got out and came toward him.
The little hunchback stopped on the far side of the fire and looked down at him.
"Now, what did you do that for?" he said.
Kil smiled a little, opened his mouth as if to explain, then closed it again. He shrugged. It was too big. Perhaps the time would come finally when he could answer that question; but not now.
"Where've you been? I've been chasing you for two days now without being able to come up with you. What've you been doing?"
Doing? He had been traveling, in constant motion on rocket and mag ship, from Duluth, to Mexico City, Buenos Aires, Rio, Capetown, Timbuktu, Algiers, Madrid, Amsterdam, Oslo . . . the list ran on indefinitely. He had not been hungry— except for a little while on the first day. And he could not remember sleeping, although he must have dozed from time to time in his rocket or mag ship
seat. Now, he was neither tired nor hungry, only withdrawn in a strange way, as if he had turned in on himself. People, he remembered, had mostly not noticed that he was Keyless. When they had, they had been shocked, horrified, fascinated. . . .
He shrugged again, in answer to Dekko's question.
"Listen, you don't have to give up!" The small man's voice was filled with an unusual, urgent concern. "We can fix it. I can fix it. You can go back and they'll have to give you your Key again. What if it is Class Four? Once you've got it, I can fix things up so you won't know it from Class A. There's nothing I can't get. You mustn't give up."
That roused him.
"I'm not giving up," he said.
"I got food and something to drink in the cab. You got to eat. Clean up and shave. I got some clothes in there, too. If there's anything else you want, just ask me. I can get anything for you. Anything."
"I don't want anything," said Kil. "I just want to think. Go on back."
Dekko sat down obstinately opposite the fire.
"I'm not leaving until you come with me," he said.
"Then sit quiet," said Kil. He got to his feet and motioned Dekko down as the smaller man started to scramble up, also. "It's all right. I'm just going off a few feet. Sit still."
He walked away across the rubbled shelf of rock and sat down again at a distance of some twenty yards. The fresh breeze coming up the river gorge blew coolly around him, but he felt it as something remote and unimportant. He no longer needed the warmth of the fire. His mind, narrowing down now to the essentials of his search, was dispensing with ir-relevancies.
He was remembering a great many things. He had reviewed in his mind the years he had lived with Ellen and what he looked for was almost, but not quite, there. He had moved among the world of people as a spectator, and looked at it; and what he wanted was almost, but not quite, there. He had seen, talked to, experienced, Stabs and Unstabs, Dekko, McElroy, Ace, the blond boy, Toy, Bolievsky, Mali,Melee, and an old botanical technician that loved his bug. And the answer was almost, but not quite, there.
The answer, he realized quite quietly and suddenly, was in himself.
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