"Little good it did. When I saw Bekman up there by the stage, I realized I was too far away to stop him." He considered. "Not sure I would have tried, anyway. Bekman was very good with the burp
gun." Ogram's eyes drifted slowly back to Dorland. 26 William Greenleaf
"Now that High Elder Brill knows where you are, he'll send someone else after you. He's got ten more like Bekman, and he won't give up." He shrugged.
"Of course, you can always pack up and run again." There was a knock at the door. Ogram spun
around, startled. The knock came again.
"Damn!" Ogram hissed. He glanced at the wardrobe, then moved to the open window and looked through it. The window overlooked a broad expanse of lawn. Paul knew it was at least a threemeter drop to the ground.
"Guess I can make that," Ogram said doubtfully. Then, to Dorland: "You won't change your mind and come along?"
Dorland stared at him without speaking.
"Doesn't surprise me," Ogram said. He tucked the gun into a pocket of his coveralls and turned to grasp the windowsill. He pulled himself up and over and disappeared. Paul heard a single muted oof! before the knock came again at the door, louder and more insistent. He got up and crossed the room to unlock the door. As it sighed open, he heard Steph Hendrikson's voice raised in anger:
"—told you that Mr. Avery was not to be disturbed!" What now! Paul felt close to the end of his patience. He stepped back as a man in a uniform strode into the room, followed by a red-faced Hendrikson. Two burly guardsmen stood just outside the door.
"I'm Erich Frakes," the officer said to Dorland, moving his eyes slightly to include Paul in the introduction. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a full face that was scarred across one cheek by a badly healed sizzler bum. He wasn't a Guard officer—the gray-and-black uniform was of the Security Section. The emblem on his lapel identified him as a captain. "I'm with Omega Security, on temporary assignment to the local—"
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"That doesn't mean you have the right to charge in here like you own the place," Hendrikson snarled, his cheeks blazing.
"It's all right, Steph," Paul said, touching the young man's arm to calm him down. Confrontations always upset Dorland's delicate nervous system, and his nerves had already been put through enough for one day. But Paul was curious about the captain's statement. "A report has already been filed with the Guard. Why is Security involved?"
Frakes shrugged as if the matter didn't concern him. "Sabre thinks the men who attacked Mr. Avery may be involved in an interstream matter."
"Parke Sabre?" Paul said with surprise. Parke Sabre was Security Director for Omega Centauri Sector, and the highest ranking UNSA official in the Omega Sector. "Why is he interested in this?" Frakes moved his shoulders slightly. "Maybe you ought to ask him. He's waiting at the local Guard office."
30 William Greenleaf
horizon when Frakes guided the Aire Vega down toward a connected group of modem, cubelike office buildings. Thick vegetation surrounded the complex, and farther out Paul could see residential clusters—large, rambling buildings in brown and beige.
Frakes landed in an open stall on the roof of one of the mid-level buildings and popped open the Aire Vega's gullwing doors. The whine of the engine keened downscale.
"How long will this take?" Paul asked as he ducked under the door and stepped onto the tiled roof. "Mr. Avery has another show in two hours."
"No problem," Frakes said in a tone that revealed little concern. Not his problem, he means, Paul thought angrily.
Frakes led them in a diagonal line across the roof, picking his way easily through the parked flyers and streamcraft until he reached a section of the building that jutted above the parking level. He thumbed the lock of an unmarked door and led the way into a narrow, brightly lighted corridor. The two guardsmen stepped in behind them, but turned down another hallway and disappeared without a word.
The corridor was lined with numbered, woodveneer doors and opened into a lobby farther down. Paul heard distant voices and the erratic chatter of a high-speed printer. Frakes stopped in front of one of the doors before they reached the lobby. He thumbed the lock and pushed open the door, then moved out of the way to let Paul and Dorland step through into a small conference room.
"Sabre's on his way down. Have a seat if you want."
Paul turned to ask a question, but the door had already closed behind Frakes with a soft whirring sound.
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"Mr. Personality," he commented.
Dorland made a noncommittal sound as he
crossed to the room's only window. Paul found the room as dull and lifeless as any typical business conference room: large wooden table with six chairs, neutral landscape holos on the walls, thin carpet. In one corner stood a potted plant with large, blue-veined leaves.
It took Paul a moment to realize what was
missing. There was no communications equipment
—not even a local intercom. At the same time he recalled the odd sound the door had made as it closed. An electronic lock? Suddenly the room seemed more like a jail cell than a conference room.
"We shouldn't have come here," he said. Dorland turned to lean against the wall, facing Paul with his arms folded across his chest. "Better to find out what they want and get it over with." The words came out with a heavy weariness that made Paul look more closely at Dorland. "What do they want—"
"I don't know," Dorland said with uncharacteristic abruptness. His eyes remained steady on Paul. Then Paul realized why Dorland was being cautious. It was possible—probable, he decided—that there were unseen eyes and ears in this room. Dorland pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. "How's your knee?"
"Bruised, but okay." Hanes had wrapped it with a cloth bandage to keep the swelling down, and a small white capsule reduced the pain to a dull ache. Paul hardly noticed it. He reached for another chair, then turned as the door behind him clicked open. Erich Frakes came in followed by another man, who wore a gray one-piece civilian suit and carried a slim brown attache case. Before Frakes could make introductions, the man swung the attache case up onto the table and held out his hand to Dorland.
32 William Greenleaf
"Parke Sabre. Don't get up." He shook Dorland's hand. "I've always admired your work. I wish we could have met under better circumstances." Sabre was a contrast in almost every way to Erich Frakes
—tall and slender, with sharp features and dark hair that was artfully arranged to disguise premature thinning. He spoke quickly in clipped Basic, his voice smooth and refined. He offered his hand perfunctorily to Paul. "You're Mr. Jurick?" Paul nodded. Sabre glided on before he could speak.
"I'm glad you could come, Mr. Jurick. I've heard quite a lot about you. I understand you were in the Guard. I'm always glad to meet someone who has served his people."
The casual statement jolted Paul. How much does he know about mef
Still grasping Paul's hand, Sabre began to edge him toward the open door. Erich Frakes waited there with his arms folded. "I'd like to ask Mr. Avery a few questions. It'll take only a few minutes. We have a visitors' lounge down the hall. Erich will help you find it. I'm sure you could use some refreshments."
"Thanks, no." Paul pulled free of Sabre's hand and sat down at the table beside Dorland. "I'll wait."
"Really, there's no. need—"
"I'd like to stay, if you don't mind." Sabre's smile faded. He stared at Paul a moment longer; then his eyes went to Dorland. He spoke with barely concealed irritation. "There are some personal aspects about this, Mr. Avery. Some of it concerns your past. It's up to you, of course." Paul felt a chill of apprehension. Some of it concerns your past.
Dorland said quietly: "I want Paul to stay."
"Fine, fine." Sabre jerked out a chair and sat down. Frakes cleared his throat and closed the
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door. He stood with his back to it, facing the room. His expres
sion was neutral.
"Well, now," Sabre began, clasping his hands in front of him on the table. With visible effort, he pulled out another smile. "Mr. Avery, I want to assure you we're doing everything we can to find out why that man assaulted you, and to make sure it doesn't happen again. I've instructed my people to give full cooperation to the Guard." He leaned across the table on his elbows to look intently at Dorland. "We've gone through his personal effects, but all we found was his name. Lon Bekman." His eyes were on Dorland, and Paul suddenly realized he was watching for a reaction. Paul could have told him not to waste his time. Dorland was the most sensitive person Paul had ever met, but he was also the most effective at hiding his feelings. "He appears to be an official in some sort of church. Beyond that, we're drawing a blank. Is there any information you can give us?"
Dorland moved back in his chair to put more distance between him and Sabre. He asked cautiously: "What kind of information?"
"Do you know Bekman?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Ever see him before?"
"I'm sorry, but I can't answer that. I didn't see his face in the auditorium."
Sabre frowned. His eyes shifted to Frakes, then back to Dorland. "I understand he was in the front row—"
"The spotlights were in Dorland's eyes," Paul said. Sabre's too-slick manner was beginning to wear on him. "There's no way he could have seen what happened. Besides, he was still in the player's trance."
"The trance?" Sabre's eyes went back to Dorland. "I assumed that was part of the show. Do you really go into a hypnotic trance?" William Greenleaf
34
Dorland nodded. He didn't bother to correct Sabre. Despite the commonly held belief, the psiplayer's trance was anything but hypnotic.
"Hmm." Sabre's eyes flicked back to Paul. "I understand you were closer to Bekman when
he—"
"I've never seen him before."
"Do you and Mr. Hanes often watch the show from the control booth?"
"Not the show," Paul corrected. "The audience. Jeffrey is in charge of our security team. He likes to observe from up there. Sometimes I keep him company."
"Was there any reason for concern tonight? From a security standpoint, I mean."
"We got a threatening call," Paul answered. He thought: Why does he keep asking questions when he already knows the answersi "We reported that to the Guard. As far as I can see, they should be handling this. Why is Omega Security involved?"
"This man Bekman wasn't working aione," Sabre said, sidestepping the question. "We know somebody else in the auditorium attracted Mr. Hanes's attention. We think Mr. Avery's life may still be in danger."
"It's the Guard's job to keep law and order, to protect citizens and all that," Paul said. He kept his growing anger under control by an act of will.
"They don't cooperate with Security unless they have to. The local Guard commander would rather pull his own thumbnails out than turn something like this over to you." Sabre started to say something, but Paul raised his voice to talk over him.
"Since he obviously has, I have to assume he's gotten orders from somebody higher up. That means that what happened today goes beyond a crackpot trying'to assassinate a well-known psiplayer." He glanced pointedly at his wristwatch.
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"We have to get back to the hotel for Dorland's next show. We don't have much time, and we won't make any progress here unless you tell us why you're asking all these questions."
Sabre's high cheekbones went scarlet. "Meaning you have information but won't give it to me?"
"Meaning I'm as concerned about Dorland's safety as you are," Paul snapped. "If I knew what you're looking for, maybe I could help." Sabre stared at him.
"Have it your way." Paul stood up. "Let's go, Dorland."
Sabre reached for the attache case and popped open the clasp at each end.
"I want to show you something." He reached into the case, brought out a small black gun and held it up for Paul to see. "Do you know about weapons, Mr. Jurick?"
"A little." He looked closer. "I know where you got that one."
Sabre nodded. "Our friend Bekman." He returned the gun to the attache case. "It's a laser pistol. Very effective. You're both lucky to be alive."
"I accept that," Paul said, still standing. "But what's your point?"
"This type of gun was at one time used by Guard personnel. They called it a burp gun because of the sound the chamber's cooling mechanism makes." Paul didn't remember seeing a gun like that when he was in Guard training, and the term was not familiar to him. But he'd left the Guard years ago, and he knew they were always trying out new weapons.
"So Bekman used to be in the Guard," he said.
"That should help you identify him."
"I don't think so. The Guard stopped using laser pistols almost two hundred years ago." 36
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It took a moment for the meaning to sink in. Paul sat down and nodded toward the attache case.
"That gun is two hundred years old?"
"Correct. Quite a collector's piece, in fact." Sabre's eyes remained on Paul a moment longer, then moved to Dorland. When he spoke again, it was obvious he was choosing his words carefully. "I hope you appreciate the significance of that, Mr. Avery. We want to find out why Bekman tried to kill you. We think he may have been an agent of a political faction that is not friendly to UNSA."
"The Fringe Alliance?" Paul asked. He could think of only one political faction that would be important enough to rate the attention of the Omega Security Director. But that didn't make sense—the Alliance was well armed with modern weapons. Its agent wouldn't be using a twohundred-year-old laser gun.
"The Alliance is involved," Sabre admitted. His eyes were still on Dorland. Then he cleared his throat, leaned back in his chair and abruptly changed the subject. "Mr. Avery, we've checked our records and we find that we're missing a few pertinent details about your background. Would you mind telling me where you were born?" Dorland answered without hesitation, as if he had been expecting the question. "Giant Forest. It's a planet in the—"
"I know where it is," Sabre interrupted. "Why isn't your birth recorded in SoSec records?"
"Giant Forest is a backwater planet. They've never been careful about keeping records."
"Have you ever been to a planet called Clarion?" Paul felt himself flinch inside. Selmer Ogram's words came back to him: Sabastian wants you to come home. Ogram had been referring to a planet called Clarion.
"I travel a great deal," Dorland answered. "I can't remember every planet I've been to."
"Does the name Alban Brill mean anything to you?"
High Elder Brill, Ogram had said. Paul stared at Dorland.
"Should it?" Dorland asked.
Silence descended while Sabre and Dorland regarded each other. Paul knew that Sabre was discovering something new about Dorland. Dorland Avery the man was much different from Dorland Avery the psi-player. As a player, Dorland was a striking, almost intimidating figure. From the stage, the power of his personality flowed out over the audience and merged with the colors and music to hold them fast. But off the stage Dorland was a quiet man—almost exasperatingly so at times. Socially, he was a dud; Paul had long ago given up trying to turn him into the high-lifer and party-goer the public expected of its psi-players and other top entertainers. He had instead opted to make
Dorland a mystery figure, almost a recluse. That suited Dorland fine.
But one characteristic was shared between
Dorland the psi-player and Dorland the introvert: the power of his eyes. Dorland had a steady gaze that often made people feel uncomfortable. Paul even felt it at times when he looked into those dark eyes. There was a great depth in them, and it was easy to believe they could look into your very soul. Sabre felt it, too, and he was the one who cleared his throat and looked down at his clenched hands.
"The man who tried to kill
you is from Clarion," he said. "We were able to trace the gun's ident number back to the sector ship that went to Clarion two hundred years ago. I want to know why he tried to kill you."
"There's no need to go through this again," Paul said. For the second time, he pushed back his chair and got to his feet. He glanced toward the door and noticed that Frakes had not moved away from it. 38
William Greenleaj
He wondered if Sabre was desperate enough to keep him and Dorland here by force. He touched Doriand's shoulder. "Let's go."
"We found Bekman's streamer," Sabre said, barely glancing at Paul. He spoke earnestly to Dorland. "It's a scoutcraft from that same sector ship. He was after you, Mr. Avery, and I'm sorry, but I just can't believe you don't know why. You're our only lead. You have an obligation to help us." Dorland pushed back his chair and stood. "Can we return to our hotel now?"
Sabre stared at him. "Surely you understand what—"
"Do we have to call our lawyer?" Paul asked.
"There's no need to—"
"Good, then let us go."
Sabre's face hardened without any noticeable shift in muscles. He sat silently for a moment, staring at Paul. Then he grunted and waved a hand at Frakes. "Take them back."
Chapter Four
SILENCE DOMINATED THE FLIGHT BACK TO THE
hotel. Erick Frakes spoke only after the Aire Vega had touched down on the roof.
"Sabre's upset. He's been trying to get a lead on this place Clarion for three years. Now that he has one, he doesn't want to let it get away." Paul was still angry and didn't try to hide it.
"Sabre's a typical UNSA bureaucrat, and Security bureaucrats are the worst. He's shut up in his dark little world, too paranoid to be honest with people even* when he needs their help. As far as I'm concerned, he can go to hell."
"Yeah, well." Frakes rubbed the side of his nose and turned to look out through the front screen.
"It's important. If you hear anything, you ought to tell him. Otherwise things could get rough." Paul gave him a cold stare. "Is that a threat?" Frakes shrugged. "I don't make threats. Not my style." He pressed something on the roof console, and the Aire Vega's doors swung up. "But other people don't have that problem."
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