of awed tourists silhouettedagainst the blaze of light. He kept in constant touch with his desksergeant through his pocket communico, so Annex business didn't suffer.And the summer was warm, to say the least, so that several Gov-Ficialswere almost regretful that the dignity of their positions forbadefollowing Jason's example.
But then, too, no mere cop had their responsibilities.
None of them was conscious of how habitually Jason frowned, scratchedhis head, moved uneasily on the pleasant bench. Occasionally, he wouldsnap his fingers and the frown would relax. He'd switch on thecommunico and speak briefly. Immediately thereafter, one or the other ofthe hand-picked four in Jason's personal squad would raise his eyebrowsslightly--safely, since the pocket communico did not project video--andtake up a new position or new duties. Or, an equipment unit in Op-roomat Anx would be indifferently retuned by heedless techs.
Then for a while Jason would vent smoke pleasantly from his malodorouspipe until the frown would settle back between his eyebrows and he'dbegin to squirm on the bench again, glancing warily at Executive Level,feeling helpless about the inadequacy of his resources.
But Lonnie had gotten over feeling sad about _his_ resources monthsearlier.
The night he'd returned from the Tiara ceremonies he'd locked himself inhis den and let the on-view smile his face was wearing lapse. He tweakedGenghis Khan's nose viciously and slammed himself down in the DiamondThrone without donning a single imperial trapping, pounding his fist onthe cool mineral facet and staring morosely at the grid suit hanging inits place on the wall.
The grid suit wouldn't help him this time. The cover-alls that hadeverything except the necessary invisibility to--
_Invisibility!_
Slowly, Lonnie began to grin. Very little later he had an obscurebiochemist hooked, and ended his instructions with: "... don't care ifit needs concentrated essence of chameleon juice. Invent it. And itbetter work for there's going to be a total shortage of neo-hyperacth attwo-twenty-eight per cc for wifey!"
The biochemist delivered. Lonnie didn't stop to question if it reallywas essence of chameleon juice. He hurried with the beaker of viscousfluid to his throne room, drenched every square centimeter of the gridsuit with it and watched breathlessly through the hours while it dried.
In the glowing, shadowless illumination, the suit gradually disappeared.First, the wall against which it hung shone mistily through it. Thenthere was wall, slightly outlined by a greyish cast. And at last, onlyan indescribable fuzziness that had to be sensed rather than seen.
V
He took the fuzziness off its hanger and threw it up in the air towardthe center light. The light was undimmed. The fuzziness was air. Itsprawled down across the Throne and became diamond, except for thesleeve that dangled; part air, part intricately patterned Persiancarpet. It wasn't a fuzziness, exactly, it was more of a faint tone ofdifference in the color-texture feel. It was as though what was behindthe suit was miraculously translated to its facing surface and thenreflected to the eye within the nth of utter fidelity.
Grinning, slowly Lonnie's lower lip crept out and up to squeeze itsmate. Then, because it was always better to be sure, he donned the suitto try it against a variety of experimental backgrounds, indoors andout.
Over at Pol-Anx, the servo-tracer went to sleep; the desk sergeantyanked the creaking joints of his bunioned feet down off Jason's desk;on the bench in Gov-Park, Jason's communico squeaked briefly and Jasonand his four men rose to emergency alert.
Two hours later, the Wold Tiara still coruscating in the Fane's blaze oflight, the servo-tracer picked up its placid humming. Jason's communicosqueaked again and Jason's men relaxed while Jason himself clutched hishead with both hands and whispered bitter things.
At the same time, Lonnie, whistling cheerfully, drew his legs out of thesuit, shook it straight and hung it back on the wall. He was sure now.As sure as he was that the little biochemist and his wife and quintet ofdaughters would not want for neo-hyperacth or anything else any longer.He giggled a little, thinking of Jason crouched on the bench, glaringvacantly, utterly unconscious of Lonnie passing across the grass soclose beside him.
At his own convenience, Lonnie selected his night; a full-moon nightbecause his now-invisible grid suit didn't require dark. He picked afairly early hour, too, because what matter if a few yawps gawked as theTiara vanished? And that one of those yawps would be Jason, stodgily onhis bench, gave Lonnie an extra fillip. Perhaps it was just for thishe'd let Jason plug along on a cold trail all these years.
So that night, wearily from his bench in Gov-Park, Jason looked up atFriday the 13th's full moon swimming amiably through its own reflectednight-brightness. His brain, tired of its everlasting shuttle betweenworries, presented him with a disconnected memory-fact: "As cited byZollner," Jason found himself quoting a forgotten textbook, "the Moon'sreflectivity is point one seven four ... Nuts!" Angrily, he broke off,thumbed the button of his communico, growled into the microphone on hislapel, "Report."
"Adams," came promptly back. "West Entry. Nothing."
"McGillis. Patrolling rear wall. All clear in both directions as far asI can see. An' I can see both ends of the Fane in all this moonlight,Chief."
"Holland. At Raichi House. Nothing."
"Johnson. East Entry. More of the same." Then, "Say, Jase, how about it?These double shifts are getting me."
"What's the matter with you, now?"
"My feet hurt, Jase. Neither one of us is as young as we used to be,remember. How about knocking off?"
"Hmphf ..." Johnson, Jason thought, was getting old. He'd been a goodman in his day but-- Hey, he was still a good man! It was Jason's ownstubbornness that was wearing Johnson down. Jason's uselessstubbornness. After all, without the backing of Anx or Gov, withoutresults from the equipment he had filched to use on Lonnie, what was theuse of everlastingly sticking around the Tiara like a fly buzzingmolasso-saccharine anyway? Jason opened his mouth to send them all home,pressed the communico button and--shelved the relieving ordertemporarily. Instead, he blasted into the microphone: "Sergeant!SERGEANT!"
From the communico, an intermittent drone became a gasping gulp; changedinto a violent yawn and only then turned into startled speech. "Yeah?Huh?... Yeah, Chief!"
"Sergeant, if I ever catch you asleep again, you won't ever get yourpension."
"Chief, I wasn't asleep! Honest! I--"
"All right. What's happening up there?"
"Nothin' ... nothin' ... I wasn't asleep, Chief. I'd'a called you 'fanything--"
* * * * *
Something bright, or was it dull, plucked at the edge of Jason's vision.Inside the Fane, far down at one end. A thin, vertical bar of differencein the blaze of light. Chin half turned, Jason stared. What?...
"_Chief!_ That tracer's asleep--I mean--that there tracer's just GONEt'sleep! I mean--Chief! It's--"
"Shut up!" Jason hissed. "Holland! If you've let anyone slip past youout of that house--"
"Nobody did. You know me better than that, Chief."
"Adams! McGillis! Johnson! What's happening?"
"Nothing ..."
"Not a thing ..."
"_Johnson!_" Jason licked suddenly dry lips. "Dammit, Johnson,report!... _Johnson!_"
Silence.
Grimly, Jason watched the vertical bar of different brightness edge backto the Fane's East wall and disappear into the even dazzle of themarble. He had a feeling it wasn't any use calling Johnson again. Ever.
"Chief, what's up? What do we do?"
"Huh? Oh ... You, Holland, get over to the East Entry as fast as yourlegs'll stretch."
"There in three minutes flat!"
"You, too, McGillis."
"On my way!"
"Adams, you stick at that West Entry. If anything gets past you, I'll--"
"Don't worry, Chief. I've got Johnson to even up for."
Not watching how he ran, Jason hurled himself toward the East Entry; hiseyes following, in the opposite direction, a dullness moving in thebl
aze inside the Fane. A smoothly moving, white on white, unfaced ghostof whiteness within, a part of, the blazing radionic light. Just as herounded the East end of the Fane, he glimpsed the vertical bar ofwhiteness again--the edge of the marble slab that was the entry door,reflecting the blazing light at a different angle. Behind it, McGillis'stightly grinning face. Under McGillis's face, the stab of blue-whitelight reflected a glancing ray from the old-fashioned solid-missileservice pistol that Jason had insisted all four men arm themselves withfor this assignment.
Over the sound of his own labored breathing as he plunged through theEast Entry, Jason heard
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