The vidphone directory gave him the address and phone code of a Howell, Jacob, who lived in Copia. Easly went to a booth, punched in the code, and waited. The face of a thin, elderly man lit up the screen after the third chime.
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” Easly said, “but are you the Dr. Jacob Howell who used to be dean of the psi-school?”
“One and the same,” the old man said with a smile. “What can I do for you?”
He held up his bogus identity card. “I’m doing a series of articles on psi-schools for the Risden News Service. The piece I’m currently working on concerns psi-school dropouts, and I understand there was a dropout when you were dean. Now, I was wondering if you could tell me–”
“Why, of course!” Howell beamed. “I’ll be glad to help. Come right over and we’ll talk about it.”
“I really haven’t got too much time left on Jebinose,” Easly protested. “If you could just answer–”
“I’ll be home all day,” the man said, smiling. “You can drop by anytime.” With that, he cut the connection.
Easly debated his next move. Howell obviously wanted to get him over to his home. Why? Was he lonely? Or didn’t he want to discuss anything over the phone? Or was there another reason?
He decided to go. There were a few unanswered questions here that would nag him incessantly if he did not make at least one attempt to answer them.
“AH! SO YOU DECIDED to come after all!” Jacob Howell said as he opened the door to his modest apartment. It was immaculate. The walls were studded with plaques, degrees, and testimonials; the furnishings were simple and functional. A holo of a middle-aged woman was affixed to the wall above the vid screen.
A quick glance around and Easly had a capsule description of the man: a retired academic, a widower, somewhat compulsive in his habits, lonely. He welcomed Easly warmly. Any company, even that of strangers, was better than sitting alone.
“Please have a seat and let me get you a cool drink,” Howell said.
Easly demurred and tried to get to the point. “There was a student named–”
“No names, please,” Dr. Howell said, raising both hands before him. “I was dean of the psi-school for nearly forty years and only one child dropped out. I will discuss the matter with you freely, but without the use of a name.”
Definitely compulsive, Easly thought.
“I assure you the article will not name names, but I do need to know some specifics.”
“Of course. Well, I’ve been going over the incident in my mind since your call. It’s not something one would easily forget. Nasty business, that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, little Can–” He stopped short. “I mean, the boy we’re discussing got into an argument with another little fellow – it was in the telekinesis lab, I think – and the other boy died right there on the spot. It was a shocking incident. The boy you’re interested in – let’s call him ‘Master X,’ shall we? – apparently blamed himself and refused to set foot inside the school again.”
“What did the other boy die of?”
Howell shrugged. “We never found out. His parents were from the farm region and were devout members of the Heavenly Bliss sect – we had a lot of them on Jebinose, you know – and they refused to allow an autopsy. It’s part of the Heavenly Bliss canon that the human body not be willfully mutilated, neither before birth, during life, nor after death.”
“There are plenty of non-invasive methods of determining the cause of a death.”
“These were employed, of course, and nothing beyond a previously known congenital heart defect was uncovered. That was assumed to be the cause of death. It was probably the excitement of his argument with Master X that triggered it, and of course one couldn’t lay any blame on the little fellow. But you couldn’t convince him of that, however. He considered himself responsible and never wanted to come back.”
“Congenital heart defect?” Easly’s tone was dubious. “That’s ancient history. Nobody walks around with something like that any more.”
“He does when his parents refuse to consent to surgery… mutilation, you know. If the same thing happened today, there would be an autopsy, Heavenly Bliss sect or not. But we weren’t as well organized then as we are now. I wish we could have insisted on an autopsy, then little Master X would have been spared such a burden of guilt. I seem to remember that he showed promise. Such a shame.”
“Would you happen to know what he’s doing nowadays?” Easly asked.
Howell shook his head. “No, I never kept track of him. To be perfectly frank with you, I tried to forget the whole matter as soon as possible.”
Easly digested what Howell had told him for a few minutes, then rose. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Howell. You’ve been most helpful.”
“You mustn’t leave yet!” Howell said, leaping to his feet. “There’s a lot more I can tell you about psi-schools. I can prepare an early supper and fill you in on many operational details that may prove very useful as background material.”
“Some other time, perhaps,” Easly said, reaching for the door. “I’m on a very tight schedule now, really.”
“Stay and have a drink, at least.”
Easly begged off and slipped out the door. As he walked down the hall he could feel the lonely old man’s eyes on his back. He felt guilty. All Dr. Howell wanted in return for his information was a little companionship. But companionship meant time, and time was something in short supply at the moment.
The sum total of Larry Easly’s instincts and training was prodding him to leave Jebinose immediately, but he shrugged it off. He was hooked now and couldn’t run out just yet. He had the tantalizing feeling that all the pieces were here and that a nice coherent picture would be formed if he could arrange them in the proper light. He started laying them out for examination.
DeBloise was terrified of Proska; Proska was a psionic talent of some sort. Those two could be accepted as fact.
Now for a little extrapolation: A little boy at psi-school had died during an argument with Proska and Proska had refused to return to the school because of guilt. Why so much guilt? Unless he knew he had killed the other boy!
Could Cando Proska kill with his mind? Was that why he inspired such fear in deBloise? Was it that plus some very sensitive knowledge that had enabled him to extort a house and probably a yearly income from deBloise for the last seventeen years?
Seventeen years… the Vanek Equality Act had passed almost seventeen years ago –
The subconscious correlation his mind had made back at the Data Center suddenly bobbed to the surface: Junior Finch was murdered on this planet seventeen years ago!
There were too many seventeens involved here to be written off as mere coincidence: deBloise’s political career took a sharp upward turn seventeen years ago with the passage of the Vanek Equality Act; Junior Finch was murdered while working among the Vanek seventeen years ago; Cando Proska, a man who might have the ability to kill with his mind, stopped working for a living seventeen years ago and started blackmailing deBloise.
It all fit!
No, it didn’t. The Vanek killed Junior… they admitted it openly. And Vanek never lie. Or did they? It was also generally conceded that Junior’s death merely increased the margin by which deBloise’s pet Equality Act was passed. So deBloise had nothing to gain from Junior’s death. Or had he?
By the time he reached the roof, he knew where he was going. Not the spaceport… he had just two more stops to make before the spaceport: The first, his hotel room; the second, Danzer.
DARK HAD FALLEN by the time he reached Danzer and there was a different Vanek sitting cross-legged inside the circle this time. A small flame sputtered before him and cast a wan glow on his features. This one was younger-middle-aged, Easly guessed – with a spot of dark blue pigmentation on his forehead. This Vanek would no doubt be as informative as the last one, but Easly had secured a small vial of gas from his hotel room, something to give him a c
onversational edge over the Vanek.
“Wheels within wheels, bendreth,” the beggar greeted him.
“Wheels within wheels, yourself,” Easly muttered as he squatted before him.
“Have you come again to meditate on our friend, Junior Finch?”
Easly started. “How did you know I was here before?”
“We know many things.”
“I’ll bet you do. Right now I’d like to meditate on someone else. I us name is Cando Proska. Know him?”
The beggar’s eyes remained impassive. “We know Mr. Proska, but we do not fear his power.”
The directness of the response surprised him. “What power?”
“The Great Wheel imparts many powers in its turning. Mr. Proska possesses an unusual one.”
“Yes, but just what is his power?”
The beggar shrugged. “Wheels within wheels, bendreth.”
Here we go again, Easly thought, and reached for a cigar. But there was a subtle difference here. Yesterday’s beggar had an air of tranquility about him; he had sensed an innate passivity about that one. Today’s beggar was something else entirely. Outwardly, he looked like a quiet, removed, contemplative sort. But Easly sensed that this was a thin veneer under which churned a very purposeful being. There was power here, and determination.
This creature was not at all like a Vanek should be.
He took his time lighting the cigar. By the time the tip was glowing a bright red, both he and the beggar were enveloped in a cloud of strong-smelling smoke. This was the effect he desired, for he had removed the small gas vial along with the cigar and now had it palmed against his thigh and pointing toward the Vanek. A flick of his index finger opened the cock and the colorless contents streamed out.
Easly held his breath and waited for the vial to empty. It contained a powerful cortical inhibitor that worked as a highly effective tongue-loosener on humans. The gas, kelamine, was not entirely odorless, however, thus the improvised smoke screen. He had taken a considerable risk by traveling with kelamine. It was illegal on most planets – Jebinose included – and mere possession could result in imprisonment. There were no physical or mental after effects, but its use was classified as “chemical assault.”
A vial was kept hidden in his luggage at all times for use in extreme circumstances. This was such a circumstance. He could only hope that the half-breed Vanek nervous system was human enough to respond to the gas.
When the vial was empty, he slipped it back into his pocket and allowed himself to breath again.
“What is Proska’s power?” he asked again.
“Wheels within wheels, bendreth,” came the standard reply.
Easly cursed softly and was about to get to his feet when he noticed the beggar begin to sway.
“I am dizzy, bendreth. I fear it is the smoke you make.”
“Very sorry,” Easly said with the slightest trace of a smile. A mild dizziness was the drug’s only side effect. He ground the cigar out in the dirt.
“Perhaps you misunderstood my question,” he said carefully. “I want to know what kind of power Mr. Proska possesses.”
“It is a power of the mind,” the Vanek said, and put a finger to his forehead.
Now we’re getting somewhere!
AN HOUR LATER EASLY returned to his flitter and took to the air. Even with the help of the kelamine, it had been hard work to pull any concrete information out of the Vanek; their minds work in such a circumspect manner that he almost had to start thinking like one before he could get the answers he wanted.
But Easly had his answers now and his new-found knowledge made him set a course for the spaceport at full throttle. His luggage was still at the hotel, and as far as he was concerned, it could stay there. There was only one thing he wanted now and that was to get off Jebinose.
His expression was grim as he dropped the flitter off on the rental platform and went to secure a seat on the next shuttle up. The mystery of Junior Finch’s death and Proska’s diabolical psi-talent had been cleared up. He shuddered at the thought of running into Proska now. The little man was no mere psi-killer as Easly had originally suspected. No, what Cando Proska could do to a man was much worse.
Larry Easly was frightened. He had faced danger before – in fact, at one point during an investigation last year, someone’s bodyguard had placed the business end of a blaster over his left eye and threatened to pull the trigger – but it had never affected him like this. This was different. This was an unseen danger that could strike anywhere, at anytime, without the slightest warning. And there was no possible way to defend himself against it.
He didn’t know the range of Proska’s power. Did it require a certain proximity to its target to be effective, or could he just sit in a room somewhere and strike out at will? Every shadowy corner posed a threat now. His palms were clammy, his stomach felt as if something cold and sharp was clawing at it, and the skin on the nape of his neck crawled and tingled.
He was almost giddy with relief when the read-out at the reservation desk told him he had a seat on the next orbital shuttle leaving in one quarter of a standard hour.
On his way to the shuttle dock, he passed the subspace communication area and thought it might be a good idea to get a message off to Jo… just in case something happened to him.
He entered one of the large, transparent booths, closed the door behind him, and seated himself at the console. The locus computer informed him that it was midday at the IBA offices on Ragna. Not that it mattered: the subspace laser was the fastest means of communication yet developed, but it was still a one-way affair. Delay between transmission and reception could range from minutes to hours. And Easly was not waiting around for a reply anyway. The message would be automatically recorded at IBA and Jo would replay it at her convenience.
Easly noted the vid receptor before him and realized he was in a deluxe booth that sent a combined video and aural message. He shrugged and tapped in the IBA locus. All he wanted to do was get the message off, then get up to the shuttle dock. The extra expense was the least of his worries. A red light went on and he slipped his credit ID disk into a slot. The disk popped out and the light turned green. A two-minute transmission had begun.
JO WAS SURPRISED to learn that she had a subspace call from Larry. He would only contact her like this under emergency conditions, so she ordered an immediate replay on her office vid screen. She started to smile as his face appeared, then remembered that he could neither see nor hear her. His voice was stern:
“This is a personal and confidential message for Josephine Finch – her eyes only. Please record the following without monitoring.” He waited a few seconds, then his tone softened.
“I’ll have to make this quick, Jo, and more cryptic than my usual since I don’t know who else will see this before it gets to you. First off, as to your close relative’s end, it’s not at all what it seemed to be. The man you sent me here to investigate may well be intimately involved. And there’s a wild card: a psi-talent who… who…”
Jo saw Larry’s face go slack as his voice faltered. He swayed in front of the screen, fighting to keep his balance. Utterly helpless, Jo had to sit and watch in horror as his eyes rolled up into his head and he sank from view.
Picture transmission was not interrupted, however, and Jo anxiously watched the passers-by, hoping that one of them would glance in and realize that something was wrong with Larry. One man did stop and peer through the glass. He was short, sallow, and balding. His hard little eyes seemed to rest on the spot where Larry had fallen but he registered no surprise, made no move to help.
He merely smiled and turned away.
Tella
ANDY TELLA HAD A STRICT personal rule against taking blind assignments. He not only insisted on knowing the immediate objective but the final one as well. This attitude had ultimately led to his failure as a Defense Force trooper: he hadn’t been able to muster the reflexive obedience required to function successfully in a military unit.
He was bending his rule somewhat for the current assignment, however. The immediate objective was quite clear: secure the export contract for the Rakoan Leason crystals; do it in accordance with Federation conventions on relations with alien races… but do it. The ultimate objective remained vague, and that bothered him.
His first impulse had been to turn the assignment down. He knew nothing about dealing with aliens, knew nothing about Leason crystals other than the fact that they were used to line drive tubes and were extremely valuable, and had no desire to increase his knowledge in either area. But the request had come from Josephine Finch and she said the job was important and of a highly sensitive nature. It pertained to the deBloise caper, but she wouldn’t say just how.
On faith alone, he had accepted the assignment and was now a passenger aboard IBA’s own interstellar cruiser as it slowed into orbit around a cloud-streaked, brown-and-blue ball called Rako. The days on ship had been spent in encephalo-augmented study of everything known about the planet and the humanoids who inhabited it. Rako was a water-oxygen world circling an F3 star situated along the mutual expansion border of the Terran Federation and the Tarkan Empire. It had been discovered six and a half standard years previously by a Fairleigh Tubes exploration team on a follow-up mission after spectrographic analysis of its primary suggested the possibility of deposits of natural Leason crystals. They found them – huge fields of them.
They found something else, too. The planet was inhabited. They came upon evidence of intelligent life long before they found the Rakoans, however. Dead cities – dank, decaying, alloy-and-polymer corpses, some almost completely overgrown with vegetation – dotted the planet, indicating a sophisticated level of technology at one time. But no natives. It was initially suspected that a plague or biological catastrophe had wiped them out and the members of the exploration team breathed a sigh of relief – intelligent life forms on Rako would complicate matters by preventing them from claiming the planet for Fairleigh.
F Paul Wilson - LaNague 02 Page 16