"Thanks," Verrick answered. "You know that Pellig has left?"
Cartwright nodded. "He's heading for John Preston's ship."
The others followed them as they entered the dining-room. Benteley seated himself beside Rita O'Neill at the far end of a table; Verrick saw him but gave merely a momentary flicker of recognition. Shaeffer, the other Corpsmen and Directorate officials, took seats in the background.
"I suppose he'll find it," Verrick murmured. "When I left Chemie he was already thirty-nine astronomical units out; I checked with the ipvic monitor." He accepted black coffee and sipped it with relief. "A devil of a lot has happened today."
"What would Moore do if he got hold of Preston's material?" Cartwright asked. "You know him better than I do."
"It's hard to say. Moore was always a lone wolf. I provided him with materials and he worked on his own on his projects. He's brilliant. He engineered the whole Pellig project."
Eleanor Stevens had come into the room. She stood nervous and uncertain, her thin hands clasped tightly together. After a moment of indecision she slipped into a seat in a recess and watched wide-eyed, a demure and terrified shape half lost in shadow.
"I wondered where you'd gone," Verrick called to her. "You raced me by a—" he examined his watch—"only a few minutes."
"Will Moore return to you if he gets what he wants?" Cartwright asked. "His oath... ?"
"He never worried about that sort of thing." Verrick's glance strayed. "Oaths don't seem as important as they once did."
Benteley said nothing. Under his fingers his gun was cold and moist with perspiration. His coffee cooled beside him, untouched. Rita O'Neill smoked convulsively, stubbed her cigarette out, lit another and then stubbed that.
"Are you going to call a second Challenge Convention?" Cartwright asked Verrick.
Verrick made an intricate pyramid with his massive hands, studied it, then dissolved it back into individual fingers. He gazed absently round the room.
"Why did you come here?" Rita O'Neill's voice cracked out.
Verrick's shaggy eyebrows pulled together in a frown as he turned to Cartwright for an explanation. "My niece," Cartwright said. He introduced them; Rita glared down at her coffee cup and said nothing. Verrick soon forgot her and went back to pyramiding his fingers.
"Of course," he said finally. "I don't know what Benteley has told you. I suppose you understand my set-up, by now."
"What Benteley didn't tell me orally, Shaeffer scanned," Cartwright answered.
"Then you know all I have to say by way of explanation. I don't intend to say anything about Herb Moore." He produced a gun which he propped up right against a milk jug. "I can't very well kill Benteley here..."
Shaeffer and Cartwright exchanged glances.
"We must clear up one thing," Cartwright said. "Benteley is now under oath to me, as Quizmaster."
Verrick snapped: "He broke his oath to me; that ends his freedom of choice."
Cartwright rejoined: "I don't consider that he broke his oath to you."
"You betrayed him," Shaeffer added.
Verrick grunted, retrieved his gun, and replaced it in his pocket. "We'll have to get advice on this," he murmured. "Let's try to get Judge Waring up here."
Judge Felix Waring, the highest ranking jurist in the system, was a grouchy, white-bearded gnome in a moth-eaten black suit and old-fashioned hat.
"I know who you are," he muttered, glancing at Cartwright. "And you, too." He nodded at Verrick. "That Pellig of yours was a fizzle, wasn't he?" He cackled gleefully. "I never liked the looks of him—didn't have a muscle in him."
The ship that had brought Judge Waring had disgorged newsmachines, Hill officials, Directorate bureaucrats, and finally Sam Oster. Ipvic technicians had come in their own ship; signalmen with reels of communication wiring wandered everywhere, stringing up television equipment. Towards the middle of the day the place became a hive of noisy, determined activity. Motion was everywhere, figures coming and going... Benteley stood in a corner, watching gloomily.
"It's nice, here," Rita O'Neill said, settling herself for a doze.
Benteley nodded, then muttered: "So Judge Waring is going to make his decision amid all this din?"
In another corner Leon Cartwright was talking with a barrel-chested, grim-faced man, Sam Oster was congratulating him on his successful bout with his first assassin.
Benteley gazed at them until they separated. Finally he turned—and found himself facing Eleanor Stevens.
"Who is she?" Eleanor asked in a clipped voice.
"Cartwright's niece," he answered, following her gaze.
She shrugged and started away suddenly; after a moment
Benteley followed. "They're about to start; they're going to let that stupid old goat decide," she went on.
"I know," Benteley said listlessly.
"He hardly knows what's going on. Verrick pulled the wool over his eyes at the Convention; he'll do it again. Has there been any news about Moore?"
"An Ipvic screen has been set up, for Cartwright's use. Verrick doesn't care; he didn't interfere."
"What does it show?"
"I don't know. I haven't bothered to look." Benteley came to a halt. Through a half-open door he had caught a glimpse of a table and chairs, ash-trays, recording instruments. "Is that——"
"That's the room they set up." Suddenly Eleanor gave a cry of terror. "Please get me out of here!"
Reese Verrick had moved past the door of the room.
"He knows—about us," Eleanor said as they pushed among the people. "I came to warn you——"
"Too bad!" Benteley said vaguely.
"Don't you care?"
"There's nothing I can do to Reese Verrick."
"You can kill him!" Her voice was shrill with hysteria. "Before he kills both of us!"
"No," Benteley said, "I'm not going to kill Reese Verrick. I'll wait and see what happens. In any case, I'm finished with that."
"And—with me?"
"You knew about the bomb."
Eleanor shuddered. "What could I do?" She hurried after him, frantic with apprehension. "Ted, I couldn't stop it, could I?"
"You knew that night when we were together. When you talked me into it."
"Yes!" Eleanor slid defiantly in front of him, blocking his way. "That's right." Her green eyes glittered wildly. "I knew. But I meant everything I said to you."
Benteley turned away, disgusted.
"Listen to me." She caught imploringly at his arm.
"Reese knew, too. Everybody knew. It couldn't be helped—somebody had to be in the Pellig body."
Benteley stepped back as a grumbling white-bearded little old man pushed angrily past him towards the antechamber. He disappeared inside the room and dropped his heavy book on the table with a thump. He blew his nose, moved critically about examining the chairs, and finally took a seat at the head of the table. Reese Verrick, standing at the window, exchanged a few words with him. A moment later Leon Cartwright followed after Judge Waring.
Benteley's heart resumed beating, slowly and reluctantly. The session was about to begin.
Chapter XIV
There were five people in the room.
Judge Waring sat at one end of the table. Leon Cartwright faced the massive figure of Reese Verrick, separated by two heaped ash-trays and a pitcher of ice water. Benteley and Major Shaeffer sat opposite each other at the low end of the table. The final chair was empty. Oster, the ipvic technicians, the Directorate officials, the Hill staff officers, had been barred.
Judge Waring glared suspiciously from Verrick to Cartwright and back to Verrick. "Is the recording business going?"
A recording technician crept agilely along the table and took up a position in front of Reese Verrick. "Thanks," Verrick said, as he collected his papers and prepared to begin.
"Is this the fellow?" Waring asked, indicating Benteley.
"He's the one I came for," Verrick said, with a brief glance at Benteley. "But
he's not the only one. They're all breaking their oaths and betraying me." His voice trailed off, but he roused himself and quietly delivered his statement. "Benteley was dropped by Oiseau-Lyre. He came to me at Batavia looking for an eight-eight position; that's his class. Things were bad for me at that time but I took him on, in spite of my own uncertainty. I took him into my household, gave him a flat at A.G. Chemie."
Shaeffer shot a quick glance at Cartwright; he was ahead of Verrick's spoken words.
"I put him on my bio-chemist research staff. Fed him. Took care of him." Verrick raised his voice a trifle. "He was given a responsible position in my biggest project, at his own insistence. He stated that he wanted to get in on policy-level. I gave him what he asked. At the crucial moment he betrayed me. He killed his immediate superior, dropped his work, and fled. Too cowardly to go on, he broke his oath. The project collapsed because of him. He came here aboard a Directorate ship and tried to swear allegiance to the Quizmaster."
Verrick was silent. He had finished.
Benteley heard the words with a kind of dull surprise. Was that what had happened? Waring was looking at him curiously, waiting for him to speak. Benteley shrugged; he had nothing to say.
Cartwright spoke up. "What was Benteley's job in this project?"
Verrick hesitated. "He was doing substantially the same work as the other class eight-eight people."
"Was there any difference?"
Verrick was silent a moment. "Not that I can recall."
"That's a lie," Shaeffer said to Judge Waring. "He knows of a difference."
Verrick nodded reluctantly. "There was one difference," he admitted. "Benteley asked for and got the leading position. He would have taken the project to its final stage. He was trusted completely."
"What was that stage?" Judge Waring asked.
"Benteley's death," Cartwright answered.
Verrick didn't contradict him. He pretended to examine his papers until finally Judge Waring asked: "Is that true?"
Verrick nodded.
"Did Benteley know?" Judge Waring pressed.
"Not at first. It wasn't possible to make the information available to him immediately; he had just joined the staff. He betrayed me when he found out." Verrick gripped his papers convulsively. "He destroyed the project. They all deserted and let me down."
"Who else betrayed you?" Shaeffer asked curiously.
"Eleanor Stevens. Herb Moore."
"Oh," Shaeffer said. "I thought Moore was the man Benteley killed."
Verrick nodded. "Moore was his immediate superior and in charge of the project."
"If Benteley killed Moore, and Moore had betrayed you..." Shaeffer turned to Judge Waring. "It sounds as if Benteley acted as a loyal serf."
Verrick snorted. "Moore betrayed me afterwards. After Benteley——" He broke off.
"Go on," Shaeffer said.
"After Benteley killed him," Verrick said woodenly.
"What's that?" Judge Waring asked testily.
"Tell him what the project was," Shaeffer suggested mildly. "Then he'll understand."
Verrick studied the table in front of him. "I have nothing more to say." He got slowly to his feet. "I withdraw the material relating to Moore's death. That isn't relevant."
"What do you charge?" Cartwright asked.
"Benteley left the job I had assigned to him, the job he took on when he swore loyalty to me."
"It was either that or death," Cartwright pointed out.
"He should have stayed, it was his job."
Cartwright rose. "I have nothing else to say," he said to Judge Waring. "I accepted Benteley because I considered him freed from his prior oath to Verrick. I considered the oath broken by Verrick. A protector isn't supposed to send a serf to involuntary death."
Judge Waring's beard bobbed up and down. "A protector can destroy his serf on an involuntary basis only if the serf has broken his oath. In breaking his oath the serf forfeits his rights but remains his protector's property." He gathered up his law books. "The case here rests on one point: if the protector in question broke his side of the oath first, the serf in question was legally within his rights to drop his work and leave. But if the protector did not break his side of the oath prior to the serf's departure, then the serf is a felon liable to the death penalty."
Cartwright moved towards the door. Verrick followed, hands deep in his pockets. "That's it, then," Cartwright said. "We'll wait for your decision."
Benteley was with Rita O'Neill when the decision came, hours later. Shaeffer brought the news. "I've been scanning Judge Waring," he said. "He's made up his mind."
Benteley and Rita were sitting in a bar, two vague shapes in the dim colour-twisting shadows that enveloped their table. A single aluminium candle sputtered between them. Directorate officials were sitting about, murmuring, gazing vacantly ahead, sipping drinks. "Well?" Benteley said. "What is it?"
"It's in your favour," Shaeffer said. "He'll announce it in a few minutes."
"Then Verrick has no claim over me," Benteley said wonderingly.
Shaeffer moved away. "Congratulations."
Rita put her hand on Benteley's. "We should celebrate," she said.
"Yes, I'm where I wanted to be." Benteley sipped his drink. "Working for the Directorate. Sworn to the Quizmaster. This is what I set out for."
Rita tore apart a match folder and fed the fragments to the metallic candle. "You're not satisfied, are you?"
"I'm as far from satisfaction as it's humanly possible to be."
"Why?" she asked softly.
"I haven't really done anything. I thought it was the Hills, but Wakeman was right. It isn't the Hills—it's the whole society. The stench is everywhere. Getting away from the Hill system doesn't help me or anybody else." He angrily pushed his glass away. "I could simply hold my nose and pretend it isn't there. But that isn't enough. Something has to be done. The whole thing has to be pulled down. It's rotten, corrupt... ready to fall on its face. But something has to be built in its place. Tearing down isn't enough. I've got to help build up the new. I'd like to do something that will make it different for other people. I have to do something to alter things."
"Maybe you will."
"How? Where'll the chance come from? I'm still a serf. Tied down. Under oath."
"You're young. We both are. We've got years ahead of us in which to plan things." Rita lifted her glass.
Benteley smiled. "I'll drink to that." He raised his own glass and touched hers. "But not too much." His smile ebbed. "Verrick is still hanging around. I'll wait until he leaves before I do my drinking."
Rita stopped feeding bits of paper to the white-hot candle flame. "What would happen if he killed you?"
"They'd shoot him."
"What would happen if he killed my uncle?"
"They'd take away his power-card. He'd never be Quizmaster."
"He won't be Quizmaster, anyhow," Rita said quietly.
Benteley roused himself. "What are you thinking?"
"He won't go back empty-handed. He can't stop at this point." She glanced up at him, dark-eyed and serious. "It's not over, Ted. He has to kill somebody."
At that moment a shadow touched the table. He glanced up, one hand in his pocket, against his gun.
"Hello!" Eleanor Stevens said. "Mind if I join you?"
She sat down facing them, hands folded in front of her, a fixed smile on her lips. Her green eyes flashed brightly at Benteley, then at Rita. In the half-shadows her hair glowed a rust red, soft and heavy against her bare neck and shoulders.
"Who are you?" Rita asked.
Green eyes dancing, Eleanor leaned forward to light her cigarette from the candle. "Just a name. Not really a person any more. Isn't that right, Ted?"
"You better get out of here," Benteley said. "I don't think Verrick wants you with us."
"I haven't seen Verrick since I got here, except at a distance. Maybe I'll leave him. Everybody else seems to be doing it."
"Be careful," Bente
ley said.
"About what?" Eleanor blew a cloud of smoke. "I couldn't help hearing what you were saying. You're right." Her eyes were fixed intently on Rita; she spoke rapidly in a sharp, brittle voice. "Verrick wants you Ted, but he'll make do with Cartwright if he can't get you. He's down in his quarters trying to make up his mind. He used to have Moore handy to arrange things in a neat mathematical equation. Assign an arbitrary value of plus 50 for killing Benteley. But minus 100 for being shot in retribution. Assign an arbitrary value of plus 40 for killing Cartwright. But a minus 50 for losing his power-card. Both way he loses."
Benteley agreed warily. "He loses both ways."
"Here's another," Eleanor said brightly. "I thought this one up myself." She nodded merrily to Rita. "I mean, you thought it up. But I made up the equation. Assign an arbitrary value of plus 40 for killing Cartwright. And then try this. Assign a minus 100 by Cartwright for being killed. That takes care of that part; that's for Reese. Then there's my own, but that's not much."
"I don't understand what you're talking about," Rita said indifferently.
"I do!" Benteley said. "Look out!"
Eleanor had already moved. On her feet like a cat, she grabbed up the aluminium candle and ground the tube of bubbling flame into Rita's face.
Benteley slammed the candle away. With a tinny grumble it rolled from the table and clanked on the floor. Soundlessly Eleanor slipped round the table to Rita O'Neill, who sat pawing helplessly at her eyes. Her black hair and skin were smoking and charred; the acrid odour of seared flesh filled the air. Eleanor tore the woman's hand away. Something glittered between the girl's fingers, a scarf-pin that came swiftly up at Rita's eyes. Benteley hurled himself at the girl; she clung to him desperately, clawing and stabbing blindly until he shook her loose. Green eyes wild and glazed, she spun away and vanished into the black shadows.
Benteley turned quickly to Rita O'Neill. "I'm all right," Rita said between clenched teeth. "The candle went out and she didn't get me with the pin. Better try to catch her."
People on all sides were leaping up and hurrying over. Eleanor had already disappeared.
"Go on," Rita cried, her hands over her face, elbows resting against the table. "You know where she's going. You know what he'll do to her."
World of Chance Page 13