Delos 2 - Futureworld
Page 20
“No, master, that was Messalina.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Hey, Ed, ol’ buddy, did I steer you to a good thing or not, huh, ol’ buddy?”
Ed nodded, kissing one of the girls. When he broke free he exclaimed, “Bet your bottom credit card, ol’ buddy!” He staggered a bit and the two flanking women helped him to stay erect. “Whoops! Hey, ain’t science great?” He slapped one of them on her bottom, She yelped, but giggled with feigned and pleased shock.
“Ed, ol’ buddy, I’m starting a new page in the Book of Life, ya hear me?”
“Right here, ol’ buddy. Be listenin’ just as soon as Caesarina here shows me a good good-bye. Start without me, Al!”
“Right! This new page o’ life, y’hear? Brand new. It’s gonna be a page outta the account books, a page of special payments ’n’ stuff. Something to build up a little nest egg no one knows about . . . something for more trips here to Delos.”
“I’m hearing you,” Ed replied.
They passed on and Schneider’s eyes followed them. He pulled a small microphone from his belt kit and pressed a button on its side.
“Memoranda Recorder, this is Dr. Schneider. Have Records and Legal write up a brochure that stresses the tax advantages of business meetings in Delos. Schneider out.”
He put away his mike and resumed watching the departing guests. His eyes were searching and cold, as if all below him were subjects rather than guests or customers.
As Tracy Ballard and Chuck Browning appeared, walking casually and smiling and exchanging a few words with the other guests, Schneider walked down the plush red-carpeted stairs, held up a hand and stopped them. They turned toward him with pleasant expressions.
“I . . . just wanted to see you off personally,” he said, his eyes checking them over.
“Thank you,” Tracy answered with a smile. “It’s been just a fabulous time! I’ll be seeing you next week when I return with our video crew.” She touched Schneider’s arm. “Really, it’s been wonderful, and I hope you’ll thank Mr. Duffy for me.”
The scientist bowed his head fractionally. “I certainly will.” He turned to the tall reporter next to Tracy. “Chuck, what about you? Have we satisfied your suspicions?” His smile was a shark’s smile.
Chuck looked embarrassed, and gave Tracy a quick glance. “Well, uh, I’d like to apologize for that.” Schneider waved his hand as if the apology was not needed, but his eyes were glittering. “But I think your patience with me will be rewarded.” Chuck broke into a boyish smile. “I’m going to write a story that will make everyone who can afford it a Delos customer!”
“That’s wonderful,” Schneider said smoothly, his shark’s smile still in position.
The public-address system broke in. “. . . Your attention, please. This is the final call for tram service connecting with Continental flight five-two-seven . . . All aboard, please.”
Tracy smiled happily at Chuck. “Hey, that’s us!”
“Well, so long, doc,” Chuck grinned, putting out his hand.
Schneider shook his hand, then Tracy’s, and the two reporters turned and started down the hall to the departure area.
Schneider stood watching the departing passengers streaming toward the exits. He saw Chuck and Tracy head for the tram.
Then a scream caused him to whirl around.
He looked back at a small group of passengers and hostesses on his level, farther back along the corridor.
They were recoiling from something, and another woman screamed, then cut off in mid-yell, staggering back against the wall.
Schneider took a step forward, a deep frown appearing on his gaunt face, but the crowd now split apart, moving back from a bleeding figure that was making its stumbling way down the hall.
It was Tracy Ballard.
She lurched toward Schneider, exhausted, lunging awkwardly and painfully, an arm twisted into a strange position. Her eyes had almost rolled back in her head as she reached out with a hand that was shaking uncontrollably.
“They’re the—the wrong ones!” she croaked. Her body then gave a twisting jerk to the right and she fell heavily to the carpeted floor.
Schneider did not wait to see the end. Dashing to the edge of the balcony, he looked down into the reception area.
Chuck was staring up at him. Tracy was stepping through the doors and getting onto the tram. The reporter suddenly broke into a wide grin and thrust up his fist in an age-old gesture of insult—one finger sticking up. A vigorous movement of triumph.
As the tram started to move, Chuck, still grinning, turned and ran for it, jumping onto the last car. The tram moved out of Schneider’s sight.
The expression on the scientist’s face was shocked and disbelieving—as if his concept of reality had been badly misaligned. Defeat overtook him, and he sagged against the balcony railing.
• • •
The stream of laughing, smiling passengers from Delos poured through the glass tunnel at the Salahari Airport. Tracy was waiting for Chuck by the escalator, and when he appeared, taking long-legged strides, she broke into a fond smile.
“Did you get Arthur?” she asked, grabbing his arm and starting down the tunnel with him.
“Told him the whole story. By the time we get home, it’ll be old news.”
After only a few more steps, Tracy burst out: “You know, I still don’t think kissing me was a very scientific way to find out who was who . . . !”
Chuck grinned down at her. “Socks, there are some things you just can’t fake!”
• • •
In Master Control at Delos, no one was monitoring the consoles. The screens were lit, but only flecks of occasional interference marred the phosphor-dot surfaces. The machinery hummed, lights blinked automatically, but there were no controllers, no voices, no deft and certain fingers manipulating knobs and punching buttons.
There was only the recorded voice of the public-address system.
“. . . You are now leaving Delos. The most exciting vacation spot in the history of man. Please come again . . .” Then the tape jammed. “Again . . . again . . . again . . . again . . .”