“Stranger things are possible. You yourself thought there was a connection or you wouldn’t have reacted the way you did. Subconsciously you fastened on it.”
“How could I help it? I mean first you mention it, and then Ari—it gave me a jolt at first. I thought it might be a clue, but I’m not so sure now.”
“And I think you’re just afraid to face what you might find.”
“Afraid?” Spence could not prevent the sneer that came. “What makes you say that? If I was afraid I wouldn’t have told you about it.”
“I think you might fear prying into your lover’s past,” said Adjani carefully.
Was it that obvious that he and Ari were in love? “I don’t recall ever mentioning anything to you about that.”
Adjani laughed and the tension which had built up in the room floated away on his laughter. “You didn’t need to say a word. It is written all over you, my friend. Anyone with eyes can see it—I just happen to know her name, that’s all.”
“You’re shrewd, Adjani. I’ll give you that. You’d make a great spy.’
“What is a scientist but a spy? We’re detectives, all of us, scratching for clues to the riddles of the universe.”
“What are we going to do about my riddle?”
“Simple. We’ll ask Ari. She may be able to tell us more about it.”
“You know, now that you mention it, it is a little strange. Ari never talks about her mother. I gather it’s still a painful subject— her death, I mean. I wouldn’t want to hurt her for anything.”
“Then we must be very discreet and gentle in our inquiry. That should not prove too difficult, should it?”
“I guess not. There’s still something I don’t like about this, though. It makes me nervous.”
“A warning, perhaps?”
“Warning?”
“We may be probing close to the heart of the matter.”
THE EGG-SHAPED CHAIR SPUN in the air as Hocking gazed upward at the clean blank ceiling, as if he were searching for cracks or specks of dirt. Tickler and his assistant sat slumped in their own, less-mobile seats gazing upward, too, in imitation of their leader. But they had less on their minds.
“The transport is back and Reston has not turned up.” Hocking repeated the facts of the case so far. He shot a quick, disapproving glance at Tickler. “It would probably have been a good idea to have watched the docking and disembarkation of the passengers. But that, I suppose, would never have occurred to you.”
Tickler grew sullen. “There was no reason to. He has not been seen or heard from since the message. And if he was here he’d have to turn up sooner or later somewhere. He’s gone.”
Hocking’s eyes narrowed. “He disappeared—broke contact— on the first night they landed. Yet the report of his disappearance did not come until a week later. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”
“You don’t think period!” exploded Hocking, “I have to do all the thinking for all of us.”
Tickler looked away. “I’m getting sick of this—this constant badgering. Just tell us what you want us to do, will you? I can’t be responsible for Dr. Reston’s whereabouts anymore. He’s gone. Most likely he fell over a rock and broke his neck.”
“Possible—but I don’t think so. I believe Reston is very much alive, and something tells me he has returned to Gotham. I think we had better check with that young bubblehead. Miss Zanderson. If he is alive he will have tried to contact her; she may know his whereabouts.”
“Kurt can go talk to her,” growled Tickler, “but it’s a waste of time. I say we should begin looking for a new subject right now.”
Hocking whirled to face him. “Since when are you in charge here? You’ll do as I say! Or do I have to remind you who holds the reins of power, hmm? I thought not.
“We will begin looking for a new subject when I have satisfied myself that he is indeed gone. But need I remind you that Reston possesses certain highly refined qualities—he is unique— probably not one in a million like him. We have searched long and hard to find him, gentlemen. And his contribution thus far has advanced our work enormously. I do not intend to give up now until I know for a definite, absolute, undeniable fact that he is dead.”
Tickler muttered under his breath and avoided Hocking’s eyes. He did not wish to feel the terrible sting of the power Hocking had referred to. Once had been enough for him; it was enough for most people.
“Any further observations, gentlemen? No? Then report back to me as soon as you have questioned Ariadne. I want you to talk to some of the cadets on that trip, too. They can confirm our suspicions. You may go.” The chair spun away from them and the two beleaguered underlings crept away.
Hocking heard the sigh of the partition closing and then silently cruised to the panel himself. “Perhaps another visit to Miss Zanderson’s father is in order,” he said to himself. “Yes. It is time we had a little chat.”
15
ADJANI! WAKE UP!” SPENCE jostled the arm of his sleeping friend. A low murmur passed the Indian’s lips as he rolled over. “Adjani!” he persisted. He went to the access panel and brought up the lights.
“What is it?” Adjani sat up rubbing his eyes, and then snapped fully awake. “Are you all right?”
“Some watchdog. Yes, I’m all right. I remembered something.”
“In your sleep?”
“I don’t sleep much anymore. What difference does it make? I remembered something—it may be important. When I first came here I met someone, a very unusual person—he had a pneumochair—”
“Those things aren’t cheap.”
“A quadriplegic, I think. His name—I can’t remember his name. But he asked me about my dreams.”
“He did?”
“Well, he didn’t come right out and ask me. But he seemed to suggest that he knew about them. He implied as much; at least that was the feeling I got at the time.”
“What made you think of this now?”
“I don’t know. I was lying there thinking about what you said about there not being any coincidences and this just popped into my head. Here was a coincidence where there shouldn’t be one. I don’t know. You’re the connection man. You tell me.”
“A quadriplegic in a pneumochair will be easy enough to track down in any case. We’ll try to find him tomorrow.” He yawned and lay down again.
“What’s wrong with right now?”
“I’m sleeping right now. Besides, if you haven’t noticed, it’s third shift and everything is shut down. We wouldn’t get very far on his trail just now. Go back to bed and try to get some rest. Tomorrow may be a long day.”
“Sorry if I interrupted your beauty sleep, mahatma.”
“It is but the buzzing of a gnat, my son. It is nothing. Go to sleep.”
DIRECTOR ZANDERSON PASSED THROUGH the outer office and smiled warmly at the receptionist. He entered his office and hurried by Mr. Wermeyer’s empty desk, glancing at the near corner as he went by to see if there were any messages for him. He saw a small red light blinking on the ComCen panel set in the desk. He stopped and punched his code. The wafer screen lit at once with the message.
It was a note from Wermeyer; it read: Brodine called to thank you for your support of their AgEn project. I quote: “Means so much to me and my boys to know the boss is behind us.” End quote. They’re sending the first crate of spuds to you. Reply?
The director tapped a key and entered the words “potato pancakes.” He then cleared the display and proceeded to his office.
It was only when he reached his high, handsome desk with its satiny walnut top that he noticed he was not alone. He turned and jumped back a step.
“I am sorry if I startled you, Director Zanderson.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Is that any way to greet a friend?” Hocking smiled his grisly smile. “I hope you don’t mind. I had to see you, and since no one was about I let myself in.”
>
It occurred to the director that he would have to have the entry code changed at once. “What do you want? I thought you said you’d never come here again. You said you had what you wanted and you wouldn’t bother me any more.”
“Something’s come up, Director. I need some information. That’s all. Just a little information.”
“What makes you think you can just come sneaking in here any time you want and bully me around? I can have you thrown out of here.”
“Now, now.” Hocking clicked his tongue and chided, “You agreed to our little arrangement long ago, didn’t you? It would be showing poor form to begin getting all indignant and officious at this late date. We’ve kept our part of the bargain. We expect you to keep yours.”
“What do you want?” Zanderson scowled at his unwelcome guest.
“I want a modicum of consideration,” sniffed Hocking.
“Ha! You won’t get that from me.”
“I thought I made myself clear last time we talked,” Hocking intoned menacingly. “You are a powerful man, director. With powerful enemies. What they might do with the information I could give them … Well, who knows what they might do? There is, of course, one quick way to find out, isn’t there? But you don’t want me to use it, do you?”
Zanderson closed his eyes and turned away.
“I thought not,” Hocking soothed.
“I made a big mistake in letting you come here. A big mistake.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. It wasn’t really your choice.” Hocking smirked haughtily. The chair rose higher in the air.
“What do you want?”
“I want to know the whereabouts of a certain Dr. Spencer Reston.”
Zanderson gulped and stared blankly at his guest. “Him? Why him?”
“Let’s just say he has become something of a topic of conversation lately. I would like to know where he is.”
“He’s missing,” said the director delicately. “I’m afraid that’s all I can say right now.”
“Do you expect to say more later?”
“No. I mean, I don’t know. We haven’t even notified his family yet.”
“And why is that? Do you think he’s likely to turn up soon?”
“No, I don’t.” The director shook his head sadly. “Dr. Reston is dead.”
“Then why haven’t you notified his family? And why has there been no announcement to this effect?”
Director Zanderson touched fingertips to his temples and sank into his chair. “You don’t understand,” he said wearily. “In the case of suicide we don’t exactly like to rush to press with the news. It isn’t good for the Center.”
“Is that what you suspect? Suicide?”
“I am afraid so.”
Hocking watched his man intently and decided that he was telling the truth. He assumed a bright, reassuring tone. “See how easy that was? Not unpleasant at all. I shall be going now.” The chair floated across the room toward the door.
“I don’t want to see you again,” Zanderson said to the retreating figure. “Do you hear me? Stay away from here.”
Hocking did not answer and the chair kept right on going. As the door panel slid closed, the director thought he heard a grim, ghostly laughter coming from the other side. He sat motionless in his chair for a long time after the sound of that laughter had died away.
THE TWO MEN SLIPPED along the trafficways of Gotham trying to be as invisible as possible. They moved with the crowd of technicians and construction workers, the dark one keeping a wary watch ahead on all sides, the light man keeping his face averted, eyes on his feet.
When they were certain they were not being followed they slipped unnoticed into an empty axial and hurried on. As they approached their destination they stopped and waited. Upon hearing a slight noise and voices speaking low as a portal slid open they dived into a nearby maintenance alcove and waited until the footsteps trailed away down the corridor before emerging to press the buzzer on the access plate.
ARI, HAVING JUST GOTTEN rid of one visitor, hesitated before answering the door. She expected to hurry off to meet Spence soon and considered that probably it was best to ignore’ the buzzer and hope that whoever it was would go away. But it buzzed again, more insistent this time, she thought, so, she went to the panel and lightly tapped the entry key.
The panel slid open and she saw a slight dark man and another behind him hidden in the shadow.
“Yes?”
“Excuse me, Miss Zanderson, I—”
“Oh, it’s you. Dr. Rajwandhi.” She paused. “I, uh—was just about to leave …”
“Please, I understand. Is your father here?”
“Why, no. He is at his office, I imagine. Or at a meeting somewhere. If you need to see him, I would suggest—”
He cut her off. “Thank you. Is anyone else here?” He answered her suspicious look, saying, “Please, the purpose of my questions will immediately become clear.”
She peered past Adjani to the man lurking behind him. A hint of worry glinted in her eyes. “No one else is here. I’m alone.”
At this the man behind Adjani moved into the light and both men hurried through the door.
“Spence!” squeaked Ari in surprise.
“Sorry for the charade. I had to see you at once.”
She saw a strange fire smoldering behind his dark eyes and stopped; she had been about to greet him with a kiss. Instead, she froze, her hands halfway to him. “What is it? Something wrong?”
Spence took one of the outstretched hands and led her to the reading room where they all sat down together. “No,” he told her, “nothing’s wrong. I remembered some details that might help us. I couldn’t wait. I’m sorry if we frightened you.”
They sat on the couch beneath the green abstract and Adjani pulled up the low table and sat facing them.
Now that he was here, Spence did not know where to begin. Adjani helped him. “Our friend here has been awake all night pestering me with impossible questions. For the sake of a restful sleep tonight I suggested we come to see you.”
Ari smiled. “For a sleep researcher he doesn’t seem to do much of it, does he?”
“And he makes sure no one else does, either, I assure you.”
“He’s right. I couldn’t sleep last night. I kept thinking about what you said yesterday—about the Dream Thief. I told Adjani about it. We think it might be important.”
Ari suddenly paled. Spence could see her withdraw a little into herself. Her tone became guarded. “Certainly. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“Who was with you just now?” asked Adjani. The change in subject came so abruptly, both Spence and Ari looked at him sharply.
“What?” they asked in unison.
“When we came up a moment ago someone was just leaving. Your father, perhaps?”
Spence frowned. “That doesn’t concern us, Adjani. Anyway it’s none of our business.”
“But you are wrong, my friend. It might concern us entirely.”
Ari held up her hands. “It’s all right. I was going to bring it up myself anyway because I thought it was a little odd.
“Spence, it was that lab assistant of yours.”
“Kurt Millen?” He said the name as if it were a foreign word he did not know how to pronounce. “What did he want?”
“Now that you ask, I don’t know. He didn’t say exactly. That’s what was odd about it.” She paused; a look of deep concentration crossed her face. When she looked up again her eyes glittered; her tone was hushed excitement.
“Oh, Spence! I remember something—it’s been haunting me for weeks and I couldn’t for the life of me think of what it was. I think it’s important.”
“What is it? What do you know?”
“I think I know who’s out to get you!”
16
CLOUDS OF INCENSE COLORED the murky air a dull, dirty brownish gray. The pungent scents of sandalwood and patchouli mingled, creating a single heavy dusky stench. But the
inhabitant of the closed chamber seemed not to mind the oppressive atmosphere.
He sat cross-legged, his hands folded in his lap, head erect, eyes closed, sight turned inward. He appeared the very essence of the meditating guru with his paridhana, yellowed with age, wrapped in swaddling fashion around his wasted body. His sunken chest and bony shoulders heaved only occasionally as if breathing were not so important to him that it needed regular attention.
The hairless head on its long slender neck floated on the clouds of incense filling the room. A tiny brass bell sat on the grass mat before the ancient figure. With a slow, snakelike movement the guru slid a hand out to grasp the bell and ring it. The hand had but three long fingers.
In a moment a white-haired servant came running, his thin sandals slapping his naked feet in mock applause. The man, dressed in muslin shirt and trousers, entered the room bowing.
“Yes, my master. I am here.”
Ortu opened his eyes languidly and cast his dreadful yellow gaze upon the creature scraping before him.
“I will eat now. When I have finished I will see my disciples.”
“Yes, Ortu.” The servant hurried away and shortly there sounded a bell clanging from some further recess of the guru’s castle.
In a few moments the white-haired servant returned with a tray of food in bowls: rice and green tender shoots, and a thick pungent broth. These he laid at the feet of his master and retreated silently. Years of humble service had taught him that one did not linger in Ortu’s presence unbidden.
Fundi, the servant, hurried away to fetch Ortu’s disciples. Every master had disciples, Fundi knew. Wise men always attracted sincere students who wished to learn the paths of wisdom from one whose feet treaded the higher paths. He himself, though now a servant, had in his youth been a disciple of a great seer who had become a Brahman.
But the disciples of Ortu were unlike any Fundi had ever heard of. They were not human; they were not even alive. Ortu’s disciples were six hollow gems, great black stones which contained only dust within their cleverly carved interiors. These stones sat in six teak boxes which had been made to hold them: The teak was very old and had words carved in the design which Fundi did not recognize.
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