"Well, the Chief of Security was my source and he was right there. He may be a (bleep) but he doesn't lie. The poor kid is so uneducated she didn't even know enough to take a douche after she was here. So there went my plans. But never mind, I'll find other uses for her. Anyway, that's beside the point. One of the girls last night said you looked like a warmed-over corpse. So get out and around and get some air. Then maybe tomorrow night you can put on a better show."
She left and I was very glad to no longer have feet with a kick impulse in them near my head. Belatedly, the corpse remark struck me. Was somebody intending to make me into a corpse?
I was sort of confused. Maybe I had better look at the viewers.
Crobe was busy preparing lecture notes and knives. Heller was just then taking a look all around the horizon from some high place. Nothing in sight-not even a ship. Lords, he must be a long way away.
Krak's was blank.
I felt sort of fixated on the viewers. There was something wrong here. It eluded me. I concentrated very hard. If Heller was far away and still on the viewer and Krak wasn't on the viewer, then Krak had to be further away.... I sort of gave it up. Something was odd.
A bright voice almost made me jump out of my wits. "Those morning programs don't have any good rock groups on them. And you have to get the soap operas in the afternoon to get good sex. So why are you watching TV at this time of day? God, do YOU need education!"
Teenie.
"How the Hells did you get in here?"
"I took your key yesterday. I had it copied. Here's yours back. I'm on my way to school. I can't stay long."
"Good! You wore the hell out of me yesterday."
"Really trained, hey?" she said, grinning like a ghoul. "Shows you what education can do. I'm so glad you liked it. But the reason I stopped by was to tell you I can't be here this afternoon."
"Wonderful. I hope you're leaving for China for a ten-year postgraduate course!"
"No, no. The crash course is not that long. It's only a couple weeks. That's why I have to put in extra time this afternoon. I have an appointment for a special rundown on hygiene and disease control. Special demonstrations."
I flinched. "Disease?" I had specters of suddenly coming down with all kinds of oriental germs. "Look," I said anxiously, "yesterday, before you were here, you
hadn't just done it with a bunch of Chinese men, had you?"
She gave her ponytail a sad tug. "That is what is so frustrating. It's not the old Chinese method. It's the new, scientific Chinese system. They use probes and meters. They set a probe to register just one muscle and put it in you. It's hooked up to a big scope and you watch the scope. Then you have to learn to locate that muscle yourself and when you do, it shows up on the scope. It's like learning to wiggle your ears. Once you find the muscle yourself, you can move it. You get so you can locate and independently move each muscle at will." She sighed. "But there are absolutely dozens of different muscles. It's pretty tedious, sorting them all out with nothing in you but a probe. But look."
Before I could stop her, she opened her coat and pulled her skirt up above her flat, thin belly. She had a single muscle in her stomach moving. "I had a (bleep) of a time finding that one." She sat down and fanned her legs apart and pointed to the inside of her thigh. "But the nerve-impulse exercises are the worst. See the tape mark? They put an electrode on you, one place at a time. It's joined up to a big scope, too. And you learn to send an energy impulse at that exact point and if you master it, it shows up on the scope. You have to get so you can send energy surges through about fifty different places and THEN learn how to block them. After that, it gets a bit more interesting. You have to be able to do it yourself on another body."
"Cover yourself up," I said. "I feel terrible."
"What interests me, though," she said as though I had not spoken, "is the daily hour of sexual choreography. Watch!" She leaped up, pulled her coat and skirt up under her armpits and her hips went into a very fast
rotating grind. "That's the siva-siva. The Chinese say they taught it to the Tahitians long ago. Isn't it wild? I can just stand here relaxed and rotate like this for hours. It sort of feels good, too. And there's dozens of these." She pve a leap and came down grinding against a chair in a new way.
The bounce and sudden movements to which she was prone made my eyes and head hurt, just watching. "Please leave," I pleaded. "I feel utterly awful!"
She stopped. "Jesus Christ, Inky. Haven't you got any appreciation for art either?" She came over and looked at me, her big eyes a lot too close. She put her hand on my forehead. "Hey, Inky. Have you got a headache?"
"You got the idea," I said.
"And after all that good therapy I gave you, too," she said. "Have you been eating something or drinking something?"
"Gin," I said with a shudder.
"GIN? With pot? Oh, Jesus Christ, Inky, you need some time on the streets. You NEVER mix alcohol with drugs, you dumb (bleep)! You could kill yourself. And yesterday. Maybe the night before. Did you drink anything?"
"Vodka."
"Well, Jesus Christ, Inky. No wonder the good old grass didn't work yesterday. Honest to Pete, Inky, you need a nursemaid."
"Not you," I flinched.
"And I thought all the time something must be wrong with the Acapulco Gold. Jesus, Inky. You listen to me. You lay off that alcohol. It's the killer. Stick with pot every time."
She ran off and rummaged around in the bathroom
and came back with two bottles and a glass of liquid. "Vitamin Bi. And aspirin." I was trying to push the glass away. "It's just water," she said. "Now be a good boy and open your mouth." She literally poured the bottle of Bi into my mouth and made me wash it down. Then she gave me two aspirin and made me wash them down. She looked at her watch: it was a new one, Mickey Mouse's hands pointing the time. "Jesus Christ, I'm going to be late for school if I don't run the whole way. When I'm gone, fix yourself some strong coffee. And next time, don't go running down pot! Alcohol! You're too stupid to live!"
I gave her as hard a scowl as I could manage. "(Bleep)!" I said.
She picked up her purse and went to the door. She stopped. She said, "It's too bad you're such a no-good, unappreciative jerk, Inky. You need your diapers changed constantly but who'd bother."
"Get the Hells out of here!" I screamed. I had missed my third opportunity to kill her! And that would be the last one. I would look back on it with longing from that day on.
Chapter 5
I awoke in the late afternoon.
Amazing! Unless I shook it violently, my head didn't ache. Incredible as it might seem, that (bleeped) kid had been right about something: it must have been the alcohol!
I got myself some strong coffee and, wonder of wonders, I could think. And thinking brought my attention to the viewers. I uncovered them and turned them on.
Captain Bitts was teaching Heller some card game. They seemed to be in the main salon of the yacht, a room decorated in amber and beige carpets and brass. Poker. Bitts was explaining what hand beat what and Heller was being very attentive. I thought, you better watch it, Captain Bitts, that sneaky Heller will probably take you for a year's pay if my experience with him held true. But who cared what happened to Captain Bitts?
Crobe was en route to his lecture.
The Countess Krak's was blank.
I looked back at Heller's. Through an open door, he could see an empty expanse of sea. I thought to myself, you know, that Raht must really have reformed: there that yacht was, clear down in the Caribbean, and yet Heller was still on the screen. So Raht must be down in the Caribbean, too. And he could tell me exactly where that yacht was in case I wanted to do anything to it.
I got the two-way response radio and buzzed it.
"Yes?" Raht's voice.
"Where are you?"
"New York office," he said.
Ah, he had planted the activator-receiver someplace. "When did you get back?"
"I haven't been gone," said
Raht.
"Wait a minute," I said. "Didn't you follow that Royal officer (bleepard) down to Atlantic City?"
"Oh, did he go there?" said Raht.
I began to get confused. "He's out on a yacht. Didn't you even follow him to Atlantic City? You must be tagging him around. His screen is still live."
"The 831 Relayer is still off," said Raht. "Actually, it's still on the TV antenna of the Empire State Building."
Unease began to run through me with icy feet. "Look, I had him on the screen clear to Atlantic City so you MUST have been following him. I think you've gotten tangled up some way. Maybe a more-than-unusual attack of terminal inefficiency."
"Well," said Raht, "I'm not tangled up but I won't say nobody else is. According to you, the gadget is good for two-hundred-mile range. Atlantic City, straight line, is only about a hundred miles. So he still must be within two hundred miles of you."
"He is further than that. He's in the Gulf Stream and that's clear down in the Caribbean."
"I beg your pardon, Officer Gris. The Gulf Stream runs between Cuba and Florida, comes all the way up the U. S. coast, runs quite near New Jersey, goes past New York and then crosses the Atlantic to England and goes on back to the Caribbean. So he's within two hundred miles of New York or he wouldn't be on your screen."
"Wait a minute," I said. "There's something wrong. Your figures must be all out. The woman got on the yacht and went to Atlantic City and went off my screen."
"Well, you've got her electronic box, Officer Gris. I haven't. Did you drop it or something?"
"Are you inferring I mishandle equipment?"
"Well, if the Royal officer was still on the screen in Atlantic City, then wouldn't you say the woman should have been? You better check her boxes, Officer Gris. They weren't mishandled by me when I had charge of them."
I had had quite enough of his impertinence. I clicked off.
I sat back, rather incensed at his accusations. Then it occurred to me that maybe the activator-receiver of the Countess Krak might have become inoperative. Spurk was not infallible. Maybe if I shook it or kicked it, it would turn on again.
I tried to remember where I had put it. I went around searching. Dimly I recalled lifting a pillow and putting the box under it. But it wasn't on the sofa and hadn't fallen behind it. Then, with a surge of memory I recalled putting it on the top shelf of the closet.
There was a pillow up there. I gave a jump and grabbed its corner. The unit flew off the shelf and hit the floor with a crash.
I picked it up and, by plan, shook it. Nothing rattled. I turned it over.
It had a pressure switch on the back. It was off. Idly, I punched at it. Maybe putting the pillow on it or the gathering weight of the pillow had pushed it.
Movement caught my eye. The viewer was sitting over there. It lit up.
The full import of this took several seconds to sink in. And then a freezing horror began to chill my bones.
THE COUNTESS KRAK WAS WITHIN RANGE OF ME!
For days she had not been observed!
She might this very moment be picking the lock of the front door to come in and kill me!
Something worse than terror gripped my throat.
I raced to the front door and looked. No. She wasn't there.
I sped back to the garden and looked around.
No. She wasn't there.
I wrung my hands in extreme agitation.
WHERE WAS THE COUNTESS KRAK?
Chapter 6
Shocks of that character are very hard on one. They shorten the life span. And in this case, I felt with certainty I might only have seconds to live.
It was Teenie's fault for distracting me. It was Adora's fault as well. Were they in league with the Countess Krak? Was the Countess Krak paying them to keep my attention elsewhere while she sneaked up to do me in?
I made myself stand very still in the middle of the floor. Aloud, I said, "Steady. Be calm. Your heart is still beating. There is hope yet. Steady. Be calm."
THE VIEWER!
If I looked at the viewer I could tell where she was.
Half expecting to see my own face in it, I stared at the screen.
A shabby building was on the viewer. Then she turned. She was looking at cars going by. She must be standing on a corner. Rush-hour traffic was heavy. People were going home.
Another view of the shabby building. The ground floor had a porno store. The second floor had a massage parlor. The third floor had the offices of the National Association of Mental Stealth. She looked back at the traffic.
My wits began to work. Didn't I know that building?
Krak turned and looked at it again. This time her eyes went to the fourth floor. Yes!
THE LAW OFFICES OF DINGALING, CHASE AND AMBO!
The Countess had it under surveillance!
There was a movement at the door which led to the upper floors.
Three girls came out. Did I know them? They looked familiar! One of them had an enormous belly. Maizie Spread!
The other two were Toots Switch and Dolores Pubi-ano de Copula, the alleged Mrs. Wisters! Their pictures had been in the papers often enough for me to be absolutely positive. They were giggling and talking amongst themselves. They walked along up the street.
The Countess Krak, obscured by the rush-hour traffic from these poor, unsuspecting, innocent young ladies, BEGAN TO FOLLOW THEM!
I knew at once what was going to happen. The Countess Krak was going to rush up to them and stamp them into the pavement. I was watching a murder about to happen.
Oh, thank Gods, I had been in time after all. I grabbed the phone. I rang Dingaling, Chase and Ambo.
"Did you get the injunction order and the commitment papers on that female fiend?" I screamed into the phone.
"Oh, yes, certainly. The process server is right here this minute! This is Dingaling. Are you Smith? This sounds like hysteria!"
"It is hysteria! That demon is following your three clients! Get her served! Get her committed fast! LOOK OUT YOUR WINDOW!"
"Instantly!" said Dingaling.
I rang off.
I clutched the viewer with both hands.
Oh, thank Gods, I had not been too late after all.
The Countess was following the three girls. She was not twenty feet behind them. You could even hear their giggles and laughter above the traffic roar.
The dark Dolores seemed to be in particularly high spirits. She said something especially gay and then gave Maizie Spread a hard punch in the swollen abdomen. Toots Switch laughed uproariously, like a train whistle.
Oh, the poor dears. All too soon would their gay and innocent laughter be stilled! Come on, process server!
THERE HE WAS!
The shabby man in the shabby coat, his shabby hat hiding his alert eyes. He knew the Countess. He had seen her personally in the condo. He was walking right abreast of her. I expected him to whip around and present his paper.
He was looking back. Maybe he was waiting for the police to assist or the Bellevue wagon to arrive.
He must be very cunning. A process server would have to be. He was now a yard ahead of the Countess.
He turned!
He went racing back down the street, looking at everyone he passed.
The process server raced by the Countess Krak again. He raced by the girls.
He turned and came speeding back. He passed the Countess.
With a shock, I realized that she seemed to be invisible to him. He hardly glanced at her. What crazy magic was this?
The girls walked three blocks.
They turned to some steps and walked down into a restaurant and bar, still laughing loudly.
The Countess Krak remained on the street. She
walked over to the curb. She looked up and down.
Then she turned and walked into the restaurant.
The three girls had taken a table over to the side. Toots Switch was calling out, "Where's the (bleeping) proprietor of this crummy joint?"
&n
bsp; "Bartender!" yelled Maizie Spread. "Move your (bleep) and bring three shots of rye over here!"
The Countess Krak walked straight over to them. "Flowers? Flowers?" she was saying in a quavery voice I did not recall ever having heard before.
She reached down into a bucket she was carrying and picked up three corsages of violets. She leaned over the table and, one, two, three, pinned them on the coats of the girls.
The process server brushed the Countess aside and leaned toward the three girls. "Have you seen a huge woman? A fiend?"
They laughed at him, the poor innocent dears. "You flipped your wig, Shover?" said Dolores. Oh, Gods, what courage in the face of death!
"You!" said the process server, whirling around to the Countess. "You see any foul fiend in here?"
The Countess put a red carnation in the buttonhole of his overcoat. "That will be one dollar please," she said.
The poor man. He looked so frustrated. He ripped the flower out of his buttonhole. He threw it on the floor. He stamped on it with violence. "I've missed!" he shrieked. He rushed away, looking everywhere.
The Countess reached over and picked up the purse of Toots Switch. She had it open. "That's five dollars for your corsage," she said.
Toots let out a screech. She snatched the purse back. "Get away from us, you old bag!" she yelled.
The Countess picked up Maizie's purse and opened
it and fished inside. "That's five dollars for yours," she said.
"Well, (bleep) you!" howled Maizie, and grabbed her purse back.
Dolores was more alert. She had her purse up in the air, removing it from reach. The Countess reached right across. She grabbed it and opened it.
A gruff voice sounded. "What's this row?"
Krak turned. It was the proprietor. She said, "They won't pay me for the flowers they bought."
The proprietor snarled, "Get out of here, you old (bleep)!" And he grabbed at the purse to recover it.
The purse spun on its strap.
It collided with the top of the proprietor's head.
He went down like a building had fallen on him.
The Countess Krak walked out.
A guy on the street stopped. He said, "I'll take one of those, mother." And he bought a bunch of carnations from her for five bucks!
Mission: Earth Death Quest Page 30