"That's all right," said Eli. "You're the one man I don't mind Kurt letting know. I'll ask you to keep the information to yourself, though, if you don't mind. Did he tell you anything except where I was?"
"No," answered Alan. "I couldn't get another word out of him. He seemed worried." And he looked at Eli keenly as if he hoped this statement would surprise a reaction out of the older man that would be more informative. Eli's expression, however, remained unaltered. "What's on your mind, Alan?" he said.
"Frankly," the younger man leaned forward with his elbows on the arms of his deck chair and folded long, sinewy hands together, "I'm out horse-trading."
"That sounds interesting," said Eli.
"I hope so," said Alan, bluntly. "Because I'm not going to pussyfoot around the business. It boils down to this: Tony Sellars has made Communications an offer."
"Communications, or you?" asked Eli.
"Myself as communications," replied Alan. "Naturally, I can't tell you anything more about it than that it's a proposition for combining forces from now on. But you're capable of reading what you need between the lines on that."
"Well? Why come to me?"
"I haven't accepted yet. As I say, I'm out horse-trading. I thought I'd see what you had to offer."
"Officially," said Eli cautiously, "I couldn't, of course, offer anything. Underseas, of course, would be glad to have Communications on her side."
"That's not what I'm talking about," said Alan. He leaned back in his deck chair. "Understand me, now, Eli. I'm not a cherisher of personal ambition. I'm a representative of a small, but vitally important group who can't afford to make the wrong decision. If things were to go on as they have for the last half century, with the groups balancing the world power between them, I'd never abandon our traditional stand of remaining unconnected with any power association of groups. But you and I know that we're in for a change; and quite bluntly, I want to be on the winning side."
"I see," Eli looked down and rubbed his bad knee thoughtfully, from long habit. "I see I'm going to have to trust you with some further information—if you'll promise to keep this under your hat also until the official announcement is made."
"Certainly," said Alan.
Eli looked up at him. "I've given up the spokesmanship," he said.
Alan sat perfectly still for a long moment, looking at him. Finally he spoke.
"I don't understand."
"I've quit—retired—gotten out of the job," amplified Eli. "Kurt has my resignation. It should, in fact, have been made public before this. Officially, I haven't even the right now to be discussing Underseas business with you."
Alan's chiseled face showed bewilderment.
"I still don't understand," he said.
Eli sighed.
"I never really wanted the spokesmanship," he said. "No, I quit. Kurt is temporarily in charge and there's a very good chance the various Domes will confirm him in the position. I suggest you go back and talk to him."
Alan frowned.
"No," he said slowly. "I don't believe I will."
"Why not?" said Eli. "You wanted Underseas on your side. And Underseas is Kurt, now."
Alan shook his head.
"You evidently don't understand, Eli," he said. "It wasn't Underseas I wanted. It's you. Without you, Underseas is just another little two-bit group—and with even less than ordinary influence because it has no mainland connections."
"Now hold on," said Eli. "Underseas has eighteen other small groups in coalition!"
"And how many will it have once your resignation is announced?" asked Alan. "Be honest, Eli. We all know Kurt on the Island; and he's a nice fellow, but he's not even average spokesman material. Expecting him to step into your shoes is sheer fantasy."
Mentally, Eli bit his lip. Alan's serving of unpalatable facts was undeniable. And worse than that, it was merely a reflection of the reactions all the group spokesman would be showing when the news broke.
"What I don't understand is this retirement business of yours," Alan went on. He glanced at the wheel chair. "What is it, Eli? Health?"
"No, no," said Eli wearily. "It's what I told you. I just want out."
There was a slight pause. Then Alan spoke again, with meaning. "I thought I recognized Seth Maguin," he said. "He's a Member, isn't he?"
"And I'm not conducting secret negotiations with the Members, either," said Eli. "Believe me or not, Alan. But it's simply what I tell you."
Alan shrugged and rose.
"Not much point in my wasting your time further if that's the case," he said and smiled. Then the smile vanished. "You realize what this is going to mean, don't you Eli?"
"What?" said Eli.
"It means that Tony is going to have what he wants handed to him on a platter."
"Are you sure you understand him right?" asked Eli.
"Who understands him?" Alan shrugged. "But I know something about what he wants, because he told me in making his offer."
Behind them at that moment, there was the slight rushing sound of displaced air as the elevator capsule rose to the top of the tube; and they turned to see Seth step from it and stride across the floor to the bubble of the three-dimensional screen.
"What is it, Seth?" asked Eli, driving his chair toward the screen. Alan turned and walked over behind him.
"You'll remember, Eli," answered Seth, without turning around, "that I mentioned something about living proof that was to be dug up…" Under his fingers a stud snapped and a pinpoint of color in the heart of the bubble screen ballooned suddenly into full representation. The three men found themselves looking down at three bodies with their faces covered, laid out on adjoining tables in what seemed to be either a hospital or a morgue. The voice of an announcer came to them with startling clarity.
"—at approximately ten-twenty this morning. The mob had been aroused by a rumor of an illegal Member gathering in a sub-basement of the Geneva City Library. By ten o'clock mob excitement had reached such a pitch that they moved in a body into the library in search of the sub-basement. It was just a few minutes after then that the explosion occurred.
Aside from the three bodies you are now looking at, no one was injured. Autopsies will be held, however, on these to determine if they show any physical abnormalities such as it has been suggested would be the result of illegal experimentation with gene control or hard radiation. Unofficial opinions by local medicians who have viewed the bodies hint that such physical abnormalities are probably present in all three. If this is true then the long standing accusation that the Members engage in…"
As if in a dream Eli watched the slow movements of Seth and Clyde as they turned to look at him. The solar shimmered and their faces seemed to float slowly toward him, growing enormously as they came. Their mouths moved but no sound came out. And in their eyes was a knowledge and a question
"No!" shouted Eli, thrusting himself out of the chair onto his feet. "No! I can't."
And he flung an arm up in front of his face to shut out the sight of their faces. The solar swirled about him and he fell forward—forward into blackness.
He opened his eyes out of drowsy druggedness to find himself lying on the bed in his original room, in the half-light of the sunlit water. Tammy was moving around quietly.
"Tammy," he said.
She turned from what she was doing and came over to his bed. She looked down at him strangely.
"How do you feel?" she asked softly. Her voice was cool and soothing in the hushed room, like a grateful compress on the feverish sickness within him.
"I don't know," he told her honestly. Then he added, "Yes, I do. I feel miserable."
"Oh, Eli!"
The abrupt pain in her cry jolted him, so that he looked up in astonishment, to see tears in her eyes.
"Why, Tammy," he stumbled.
She did not answer. And he looked at her, seeing her really now for the first time—the smooth planes of her face, the delicate, turning line of her chin, the mobile mouth and speak
ing eyes, all at this moment tightened and touched with the pain of a love he had not suspected.
The helplessness of her went through him sharply; he held out his arms to her. She came to them; and he drew her down on the bed beside him. He felt the slim weight of her body pressed against him and the warm wetness of her tears against his neck. Clumsily, he reached over his one arm and gripped her gently by the shoulder, holding her to him. She cried softly, but with relief, and he lay silent, staring at the ceiling.
"How did this happen?" he said finally.
She turned her head upon the pillow, so that her face was toward him. The soft warmth of her breath came and went with her words, tickling at his ear.
"I always loved you," she said. "Even when I was a little girl."
"But you didn't know me," he protested.
"Yes. Oh yes," she said. "I did. Twelve years ago, when you were in Acapulco. You were living in one of the beach additions at the Monteferrato. And we were in the addition two doors down. You remember."
Eli let his mind roll back through time to the years of his purposeless wandering, to his twenties. There had been interludes at many places; and yes—there had been a time at Acapulco. It was when he had been dabbling with painting and he had gone down there for the sunlight and the ocean. He remembered now the beach additions to the sprawling Hotel Monteferrato, the morning sunlight bright upon their solar roofs. And there had been a Dr. Wina, a short, round, bearded man whose hobby was marine biology. Dr. Wina, his wife, a tall placid woman, blond like Tammy. And a twelve-year-old daughter.
"Was that you?" he asked incredulously.
"You do remember me," she answered.
The little girl had hiked with him on Hornos Beach in the early mornings, before the crowd arrived. He remembered the long, narrowing curve of the wet sand arcing away ahead of them. Sand so white and water so blue that they looked like the over-coloring of a travel advertisement. There had been two months or so of that before his restlessness drove him on.
"I remember," he said now, lying on the bed. "Twelve years, though. And all the time you were growing up."
"I didn't forget," she said. "And when you went into politics, I followed everything you did. I kept waiting for you to marry and settle down. But you never did. Why didn't you, Eli?"
"I don't know," he frowned at the ceiling. "There were so many other things."
"I watched you on the screens," she said. "I never missed a time that you spoke. Dad knew Howell, and when you planned this—"
"Yes," said Eli gently.
They fell silent together. After a while she kissed him; and then left him. But Eli did not move. He stayed where he was, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling and thinking.
6
"No" said Eli. "No reflection on you, Mel. And I'm sorry, Arthur. But we'll stick to the physical side alone, and that's final."
"What if you fold up like that again?" demanded Howell. He turned to the young man beside him. "Talk some sense into him, Mel."
The big young man looked helpless.
"Eli—" he began without a great deal of optimism.
"No," said Eli. He pushed himself upright, wincing at the soreness of his still-painful incisions and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but no psychiatry. And now I'd like to get up. Unless"—he looked at Howell—"you've got some reasons against it?"
"No," scowled Howell. "I want you to get up. But I want you to take care of yourself, too, dammit!"
"Then that's settled," said Eli, reaching for his clothes. "What's next on the schedule for me?"
"Trigger chemicals," Howell was looking hard at him. "Come on down to the lab and Ntoane'll fill you up with the ones for today. Can you walk?"
"I'll try."
It was not easy. The incisions still hurt him; but Eli found that by going slowly and hanging on to things, he could travel all right. Mel left him at the entrance to his room, but Howell followed along and stood over him as Ntoane made the injections.
"I wonder," said Howell, when these were over, "if you realize, Eli, just how drastic and important the changes are we've made in you."
"Tell me," answered Eli, humoring him.
"No point to it," said Howell. "I doubt if a single listing of changes would impress you. But the point I want to make is that you probably still consider yourself to be the same man you've always been. And you're not."
"I hope not," grinned Eli.
"It's nothing to joke about!" Howell flared. "You're in a medical no man's land now. Any sort of development can be expected."
"I read you loud and clear," said Eli. It was the bitter, jibing sort of humor that came on him occasionally, when he was being pushed too far. "And now I think I'll go up to the solar."
He turned away. Howell, his eyes glittering with anger, took a step after him.
"Arthur," said Ntoane pleadingly.
Howell stopped.
On his way up in the elevator, Eli felt uneasiness once more stirring inside him. Hassan had said that one of the other three in the station—or had he meant to include Seth in that as well?—was an assassin, with orders to take Eli's life when the proper time arrived. Hassan was not the sort of man to be wrong. Sliding up the elevator tube in the capsule, Eli ran his mind lightly over the four who shared the station with him; not Howell, he thought, not Ntoane, and never Tammy. His mind recoiled from the suggestion that Tammy might be the one. That left Mel.
With sudden decision, Eli punched the stop button in the elevator and sent it back down to the level of Mel's private working quarters.
When he walked into Mel's office, the tall, young man was there. He was seated behind his desk, with a pile of papers. And he looked up rather sharply, and laid the papers down as Eli came in.
"Busy?" said Eli. Mel shook his head.
Eli pressed the button that closed the door behind him.
"I thought maybe I better have a little private talk with you," said Eli.
"Sit down," said Mel, gesturing to a chair beside his desk. Eli limped over to it and sat down, feeling the stab of his unhealed incisions in his middle as he did so. He was aware of Mel watching him with combined curiosity and wariness.
"I suppose you wonder about the fact I won't let you work on my mind," said Eli without further preamble.
"I can't held but wonder," answered Mel. "The old fashioned fear of the psychiatrist belongs back in the last century."
"Possibly," said Eli, non-committally. "Tell me, just what do you think you would do for me? And just how would you go about doing it?"
Mel shrugged slightly.
"I'd explore first," he said, "to find out what possible psychological basis there is for that limp of yours." He glanced at Eli's leg. "The reason you're doing something like that to yourself may have deeper and more troublesome roots than you expect."
"I know what the roots are, thank you," said Eli dryly. He met Mel's eye squarely across the desk.
"Are you sure?" the young man said with a slight smile. "It's almost an axiom, you know, in fact I could say it was an axiom that no person can really know himself, or the reasons that cause him to act as he does. Any more than a microscope can be used—"
"To examine itself. I know," interrupted Eli brusquely. "That's not what I mean. The fact of the matter is, I know of something connected with my limp, which for purely practical reasons, I prefer to keep to myself."
"But you have no idea what harm you might be doing yourself." Mel leaned forward earnestly across his desk toward Eli. "I still think that there is a certain amount of actual fear of psychiatry at the basis of your refusal to co-operate about this."
"You do, do you?" grunted Eli.
"I promise you," said Mel eagerly. "You will be running no danger. Whatever it is you think you wish to hide, it will be safe with me, as it would be with any other physician."
Eli continued to look him in the eye; and a slow smile grew on his lips. It was a smile that was more than a trifle sardoni
c.
"Even if you discovered some relationship between Tammy and myself?" he said dryly.
Mel flushed and straightened up abruptly in his chair. Then, with an effort he sat back again.
"Eli," he said, "you have a certain amount of hostility toward me. To answer you, frankly, yes I would just as soon not discover anything in your mind connected with Tammy. On the other hand, I am a medical man. With a medical man's ethics and sense of responsibility toward my patient."
"I see," replied Eli in a level tone of voice. "You still haven't told me just how you would go about it."
"Hypnotherapy, to start off with," said Mel, looking levelly across the table at him. "We would have to try and bring your conscious mind, of course, whatever painful thing your unconscious is repressing."
"And can you be so sure," Eli said, "that there is something I am repressing?" Mel shook his head with almost an air of annoyance.
"All human beings repress things," he said. "If these repressions cause no trouble, there is no need to disturb them. If they do, then we have to go after them."
"By hypnotherapy, and other techniques which put the patient completely at the mercy of his doctor," said Eli.
"Yes. If that's the way you want to put it," said Mel.
"That's the way I want to put it," said Eli. "And that is exactly what I wanted to get straight with you." He stood up from his chair. "I haven't lived this long, in the world of politics and outside it, without knowing when to make myself vulnerable and when not. In this case, I don't think I should take the risk."
Mel shook his head slowly, with a stubborn but oddly defeated air.
"I can't force you," he said.
"That's right," said Eli. "You can't. But it's interesting to wonder why you might even wish you could."
Mel looked up at him oddly.
"It would be for your own good," he said. Eli considered him for a moment.
"So," he said, "you're one of those. That's what I wanted to find out." He turned about and left the room.
He went thoughtfully down the hall of the level; and then, suddenly recognized he was passing the entrance to Ntoane's laboratory. He checked himself at the door, hesitated a second, and then pushed inside. Ntoane, a laboratory apron on, was busy washing some glass vessels in a sink. He turned about and dried his hands, as Eli approached.
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