Then Bruce and two officials closed in on the knot of people and somehow the unconscious waiters were being whisked from the banquet hall.
“Calm ’em, Mally,” Bruce hissed at her and she began to pour out such sweetness and fight that everyone at her table stopped eating to beam at each other. She modified the broadcast, got Harold and herself reseated. She even managed to keep her trembling reaction inward so that none of it boiled over to erase the idiotic smile from Harold Orley’s face.
By the time the luncheon ended, however, the effort began to tell on her and was reflected in Harold’s nervousness. She felt physically drained. What if he had been able to get her away before Harold could react? Before Bruce, on the other side of the hall, had been able to get to her? Supposing he had …
Bruce was at her side, his face set and determined. She knew that look. But now she was afraid of leaving the semi-protection of so many people. If he had actually tried to kidnap her in the middle of a convention.
A plainclothes LEO man was bearing down on them. She rose, smiling brightly. Harold twitched his hulk to his feet, but his brow was clouding with childlike anxiety.
Disgust at her spinelessness buoyed Amalda’s weakening knees. The instant Red put his arm around her protectingly, she almost crawled into him.
“Let’s get her out of here,” Red said and gestured the LEO man to lead Harold.
“Come this way,” the LEO man said, gesturing to the draperies at the side of the huge banquet hall. A door in the paneling gave onto a small anteroom. “The Waiters Union is screaming over those busted skulls. We got to get you out of here quietly. What’n’hell did happen, Amalda?”
“I don’t quite know,” she murmured, aware that exhaustion was overcoming mental resolve. “Is it all right to leave?” She looked back over her shoulder at the diners dispersing slowly.
“The hell with them,” Bruce said in a savage voice.
“I’m so sorry. So sorry.” Amalda had a sense of failure. The first time she came up against him she had fallen apart. She wanted to cry. She was a failure. Aftar an Daffyd and the others had done to help her … to swoon like any vapid female …
“I’ll get you. I’ll get you the next time.” The voice was as loud in her ears as Brace’s exclamation.
“Bruce …”
Charlie Moorfield came through Daffyd’s door without bothering to knock.
“They did it,” he cried, halting his forward momentum just short of gouging his thighs on the desk edge.
Daffyd picked up the images so vivid in Charlie’s mind, and despite the fact that he could also perceive that the emergency was over, he sprang to his feet.
“Who did what?” demanded Sally, excitedly. She wasn’t accurate enough to ’path the sequence.
“They tried to snatch Amalda at the Morcam Convention luncheon,” Daffyd told her.
“Only she got Harold to bash their skulls in.”
Sally gasped.
“Gillings said the attempt and the arrest were handled so quickly that no one at the table with Amalda and Harold knew what happened,” Charlie went on. “Waiters Union is screaming over the quote unwarranted unquote arrest of three members. There’s hell to pay.”
“Not necessarily,” said Lester but he was glowering as he walked into the room and carefully closed the door behind him. “This is a clear case of professional immunity.”
“How do you construe that?” Daffyd asked.
Lester sighed as he regarded his boss with a tolerant expression.
“Amalda is a registered Talent, right? She was present at the Luncheon in a professional capacity. Therefore no one, not anyboody, has the right to interfere. The waiters did, by trying to remove her from the hall. They broke the law. Amalda hasn’t. Neither has Harold. Even if he was a little overzealous, he is now protected from the consequences of his Talent.”
“Wait a minute, Lester,” Charlie said, “that Immunity Law only means that you can’t get sued when …”
“It also means,” and Lester waggled a bony finger at Charlie and Daffyd in turn, “according to the way Senator Joel Andres and our legal eagles interpreted it to me, that any citizen attempting to interfere with a registered Talent’s performance of his duty is violating that law.”
“This would be the first time we’ve had to invoke the law,” Daffyd said.
Lester raised his eyebrows in surprised alarm. “So what’s wrong with that? Or did you break your …” he glanced abruptly at Sally who stifled her laugh … “your bones arranging protection not to use it.”
Op Owen made a cut-off gesture with one hand. Lester Welch muttered in disgust.
“I thought by this time you’d’ve learned the cost of idealism, Dave. We sweated out that Bill: it damned near cost us Joel Andres’s life; we have a deer case of an infraction and by God’s little chickens, you’re going to invoke it. If Gillings hasn’t already.”
The comset on Daffyd’s desk lit up, flashing red. He pushed the toggle down.
“Commissioner Gillings, sir, urgently.”
Daffyd nodded acceptance.
“Op Owen, we’re getting a lot of static from the Waiters Union, about Amalda, false arrest and all that crap,” Gillings stated with no preamble. “So far I’ve played it that their member was pushing a lust act and got told to bug off: that the lady-in-question is sufficiently upset to invoke female citizen’s rights. Then we got the honest-employees, good union men with clean sex records and she’s a pervert-after-the-damages claim.” Gillings sighed with heavy disgust. “You know, the usual convention static. Now, we can clear all this up by invoking the Professional Immunity Act but.…” and Gillings waggled a thick finger at Daffyd. “I’m not all that eager to break the team’s cover. Bruce Vaden told my men that something had scared Amalda and the only thing I know she’s scared about is what happened at the Fact Was there a repeat at the Morcam?”
“I haven’t talked to Amalda yet, Frank,” Daffyd said. “I assume she’s on her way back here with Vaden?” Gillings nodded. “Give me a little time.”
“Don’t take too much: That Waiters Union packs quite a wallop.”
As soon as the Commissioner’s face had faded from the screen, Daffyd asked for Ted Lewis in the LEO Block.
“Ted, you heard about the snatch attempt on Amalda?”
“It’s all over the place. Say, why don’t you just invoke the Immunity Act … No?” Ted was as perplexed as Lester.
“Is Roznine involved in any way in the Winters Union?”
“Hell yes. There isn’t one Union he isn’t involved with right now.”
“Any chance of finding out if he was at the Morcam Convention Hotel this afternoon?”
Ted Lewis held up a hand, flicked on another switch, his words and the reply indistinct, being off the receiver limit of the comscreen. He looked more confused.
“We’ve had Croner sort of keeping him under the eye/ear. Croner says he’s at a TRI-D on Market and Hall. Huh, how’s that, Croner? Hey, boss, Roznine has been watching a lot of TRI-D lately.”
“Then he suspects he’s been under surveillance and is ducking out the other exit of the TRI-D. Fine.” This was an unsettling development because it could mean that Roznine was developing as a Talent. If he got pushed too hard …. op Owen shuddered. “Let’s go see Amalda.”
“It was him,” Amalda told Daffyd. She looked white, shaken and small as she huddled against Red Vaden on the couch in the living room of their suite.
“How close to you?”
She shook her head. “He wasn’t in the room. I’d’ve seen him. But he was near enough to recognize me. My mind, I mean.” She gave a delicate shudder. Had he recognized her because she’d been thinking those thoughts about him? She wanted to ask Daffyd but she didn’t dare. She’d let him down enough already.
“Were you aware of anything, Red?” Daffyd asked.
“Not at first. Then only Amalda’s surprise. I looked up and saw the waiters grabbing her. But before I could get ac
ross the room, Harold had acted.” There was admiration on Vaden’s face for the maneuver. “I should apologize to the guy. I think we got things quieted down before any of the convention crowd got wise.”
“After the attempt were you aware of Roznine’s mind, Amalda?”
“Not until we were leaving the hall.” She closed her eyes. “He said ‘I’ll get you. The next time I’ll get you.”
Daffyd looked questioningly at Red who shook his head.
Had you ever received words before, Amolda? Daffyd asked.
Amalda looked at him startled and then shook her head, smiling shyly. “Only from you. Before now.” She was aware of his concern. “That’s bad, ain’t it?” she asked, her soft southern inflection intensifying her regret.
“Not necessarily. We have a problem,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “We know that Roznine would like to … get you, Amalda, to accomplish his own ends which, knowing your capability, must be illegal control of men’s emotions. We have to assume he’s been trying to locate you. We must also assume that he may not realize that Bruce is part of your ability. And that’s a link that can and will protect you, Amalda.” Daffyd reinforced that notion with a stern telepathic voice. “Roznine couldn’t succeed in kidnapping you today, could he? Well, he damned well won’t be able to anywhere else either.”
“You can’t be sure of that, Daffyd,” she said in a very small scared voice.
“I don’t intend to put it to the test Amalda,” Daffyd continued smoothly, smiling at the apprehensive girl, “but kindly remember that you have successfully eluded him twice now. Once by running away and hiding—successfully. And today by direct action against his agents.”
Amalda slowly nodded her head in agreement.
“Now, while Roznine is keen to get his hands on you, we … and I include the Commissioner … are very anxious to get Roznine.”
It was Bruce Vaden who stiffened and looked with an intensity dose to hatred at Daffyd op Owen. The telepath returned that look calmly, knowing in that exchange that Vaden understood the implication even if Amalda didn’t.
“Roznine is obviously a latent Talent. We know he fits minds with Amalda. We don’t know what else he can do, and he is in a peculiarly sensitive position in the ethnic situation of this city: in a position to do a lot of damage or a lot of good. We can’t push him too far and we can’t let him go. We do want him, preferably on his own initiative as you did, to come to the Center. You know what it’s like to have an unmanageable Talent …”
Daffyd was speaking more to Bruce Vaden than Amalda but it was the girl who answered.
“It’s awful … awful lonely, awful wonderful.” She gave Daffyd a smile, tremulous, and though she held her chin up in an attitude of confidence, he could see the indecision and fear of her mind.
“Now,” he went on briskly, “in using the Waiters Union to snag you, Roznine has put us in a difficult position: we can easily use the Professional Immunity Act to protect you but that would necessitate your appearance in court. And believe me, everyone interested in our cover agents would be there to identify you. Your team usefulness would decrease …”
“Does Amalda have to appear in court?” asked Red suddenly.
“Well, yes. Oh, I see what you mean,” and Daffyd started to grin. He managed to keep his smile normal despite what he had read in Bruce Vaden’s mind under the cover of the constructive suggestion. “Very good point. Two ways. Yes, I suppose we could make Amalda up to look different.… or we could have a stand-in for her. In that case, Amalda would have to be physically present because Roznine would be there and he’d know if she weren’t present, which could score against us if an EEG reading is requested by the prosecution. Hmmm. Good notion.”
“What can Roznine hope to achieve by forcing us into court?” asked Red. He was trying to cover his earlier thoughts before they became apparent to Daffyd. Present now was a thread of hopelessness, a presentiment that the intense happiness and rapport that Bruce Vaden had enjoyed with Amalda was to be sundered: too good to last. Daffyd could only answer the spoken question.
“Now that has me stumped,” he said, and meant it on several levels.
“Stand-in?” Gillings appeared to reject the stratagem instantly and just as abruptly, he frowned thoughtfully. “Why? You don’t think anyone would be crazy enough to try and snatch Amalda in court, do you? Although …” he glanced over at the windows, “the atmosphere is damned unstable ….”
“I know,” Daffyd agreed. Even during the short copter flight to the LEO Block, he’d been aware of the pervasive “darkness” of the city’s emotional aura. The weather had been miserable, which didn’t help; general employment was down; there’d been the usual complaints about the subsistence-level foods; gripes about the TRI-D programming; nothing out of the ordinary … yet. There might indeed be the makings of a major blow-up.
It would take two weeks for an improvement in the food to have a perceptible effect: TRI-D programming was undoubtedly being altered but even the most perceptive Talents could be fooled over what the public really wanted on the boob tubes. The variety of “circuses” available was almost as infinite as food-tastes and yet one never knew precisely what would satiate the public appetite. Op Owen made a mental note to check all precog rumblings. Strange there hadn’t been any definite Incident by anyone when such a large population unit was involved.
“Look, op Owen,” Gillings was saying, “I’ve got to have the team available for dot spotting. Particularly right now. And I can’t have them identifiable.”
“Then we send Amalda to the hearing made-up.”
Gillings muttered under his breath about fancy dress and sow’s ears and that suddenly swung round to fix op Owen with a startled glare. Daffyd hadn’t expected to keep Gillings in the dark long.
“Okay, op Owen, what’s behind all this pussy-footing? Who was trying to snatch Amalda at the Morcam Luncheon? Was it the same guy who was at the Fact? Because if it was, left get him and cool him. I need that team operating. And there’s that open charge of riot provocation …”
Op Owen took a deep breath. “I don’t think it would be advisible to cool Roznine.”
“Roznine?” Gillings exploded from his chair with all the frustrated astonished exasperated impotence of the strong man suddenly discovering himself in an untenable position. “Roznine! Christ, op Owen, do you know what would happen to this city, in the present mood, if I arrested the Pan-Slavic leader?” He fumed on, in much the same vein, for moments more until either Daffyd’s placatory thoughts or his own lack of breath brought a stop to the flow of recriminations.
“I haven’t suggested you arrest Roznine. In fact, that would not only be impolitic but dangerous.”
Gillings glared at him, snapping out one short explosive word. “How?”
“Because Roznine is a latent Talent. That’s what scared Amalda.”
Gillings erupted again, thoroughly enraged. This time the shield of his public mind slipped sufficiently for Daffyd to see past the anger to the panic his confession evoked.
“No!” Daffyd’s negative, forcible mental as well as audible, carried weight on every level and blocked those avenues of action which he could perceive Gillings already plotting. “Roznine is contained … at the moment But—this time we don’t force a latent into a position where he can become dangerous to an entire city. I want to avoid another Maggie O far, far more than you do!”
Gillings had no escape from Daffyd’s mind, so op Owen did not relent in the pressure until he was certain of Gillings’s uneasy and resentful cooperation.
“Roznine is no threat to us … yet. But he does threaten Amalda,” Daffyd went on. “That threat is real. It would be stupid,” and he paused to let that word be absorbed, for Gillings was not a stupid man, “to get Roznine so frustrated that additional facets of his Talent—whatever it is—are stimulated.”
Gillings’s face was a study of frustration. He gave vent to a stream of profanity which so delighted and enlig
htened op Owen that he could ignore the fact that he was the victim of the spiel. But with the avalanche, Gillings recovered his mental equilibrium.
“I told you a couple of months ago that what you guys really need is a law that makes it illegal to conceal Talent.”
Daffyd laughed wryly. “Roznine may be unaware that what he uses is Talenti!”
“Unaware? My effing foot. With all the publicity you guys have been larding the TRI-Ds with, he’s got to know what he is—especially if he’s been playing mental potty-cakes with that Amalda. Op Owen, I don’t need a Roznine in this city! You Talents put him where he belongs and bridle him or lobotomize him or something. Or I’ll invoke whatever law an the books suits me and cool him permanently. I can’t have this city turned into a battlefield. Or have you forgotten Belfast?”
His buzzer winked the urgent red. Gillings raised one fist as if to squash the unit and then, swearing viciously, slapped the toggle open.
“Well?”
There was a moment’s hesitation. Daffyd could almost see the caller swallowing hastily, probably wishing he didn’t have to continue.
“Commissioner, the lawyers for the WU are here with bail for their members. Do we release them?”
“I want to scan them,” Daffyd said in a swift undertone.
“Delay ’em. Someone’s on the way down from this office. Then permit bail.”
Gillings tossed an oddly designed coat button to op Owen.
“This’ll get you anywhere in the building. And keep it.”
Daffyd thanked the Commissioner, and left. Prowling the LEO offices would not be a frequent pastime: the “neural” noise level was more than a telepath of Daffyd’s sensitivity could bear.
The Waiters Union had sent a battery of lawyers to procure the release of their incarcerated members. They had been shown into a waiting room, just off the main admissions hall of the retention section of the LEO Complex.
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