COMAN HAD SUMMED up Orvil’s sense of humour pretty accurately and it was no surprise to him when the robot finally came to a halt outside his place of ‘rest’. It was another cell, but, apart from its transparent walls, was quite unlike the one he had first occupied. About five feet in height, it had just enough room for a man to turn round within its confined space. He was obliged either to stand in a stooping position, his knees half bent, or take up a semi squatting position – each held its own particular forms of torment. There was also a grill in the floor through which came waves of heat, and inside five minutes the sweat was pouring from him. Inside thirty minutes the pain from straining tendons and muscles had forced him to put himself into a trance, a dream state which lay on the edge of unconsciousness.
The dream was ridiculous, painful and worrying, but this was natural enough. He was a child running and playing in a garden on a hot summer’s day, and Sein and Jonl were two kindly aunts who tried vainly to make hims stop fidgeting and dancing about, and to come indoors and have cakes and tarts, and lemonade and ices …
When he regained consciousness the clock in his brain told him that two hours had passed, but he felt years older. His body ached as if it had been flogged, carefully stretched, broken, and then put together again haphazardly. He sat now, without restraint of any kind, in the chair facing the two men. But when he tried to move his arm it seemed paralysed, and someone seemed to be aiming hammer blows at his spine. Minutes passed while they watched him, like collectors watching a butterfly they had pinned alive to a board.
At last his eyelids rolled back and he groaned, somehow forcing his arms on to the table and supporting himself on them, the smell of sweat reeking in his nostrils, a muscle in his cheek twitching uncontrollably.
He hear Orvil saying: ‘Well, now that you’re suitable refreshed, perhaps you’d condescend to give us a little more of your valuable time. I expect you think we’re a bit stupid, but don’t forget we’re only normals, and therefore not half as quick on the uptake as you. So you’ve got to make it simple for us – all right?’
‘Get on with it,’ Coman said – or thought he said, for nothing came from his throat, and he heard nothing. He tried again and this time managed a queer, croaking sound.
The two faces in front of him seemed disembodied, floating now one on top of the other, now yards apart, and he gritted his teeth, trying desperately to reorientate his senses and overcome the pain and nausea which encompassed his body.
‘Listen, Coman, we’ve had another little talk with the man Barne, and he’s told us how he and Harkor and some others were put there to protect Marst from busybodies and nuisances like yourself, and so we have the picture a little more clearly now. What we really want to know is – were you successful in your purpose?’
‘Why don’t you ask Marst yourselves?’ he muttered.
There was a silence, during which the faces stopped moving and Coman was able to see them clearly, minutely even, noticing how the bones of their skulls pushed against the stretched skin, the fine hairs networked beneath the temporal bones, the eyes moving in lubricated sockets, the lips stretched in bloodless smiles.
Orvil said softly: ‘It has just been reported that Marst has called the other members of the Committee to a final secret discussion at his suite. All you have to do is give an opinion – an honest opinion – nothing more! Then you can walk out of here a free man. Surely that’s not too much to ask, is it?’
Coman stared through the two masks, knowing cold purpose in the minds which now opened before him, contemptuous of his telepathic power, allowing him to wander at will in the corridors, noting the imprinted circuits that made them obedient servants of a ruthless and corrupt service. They gave him memories of other men hurt and killed, and let him understand that they themselves had no interest in what he might tell them, that they had received their instructions which were to make him say truthfully what he believed Marst would do. They were to pass this information on to their superiors. What happened to it then, or even why such a scrap of insubstantial evidence was needed, was unknown to them and, so far as they were concerned, none of their business.
It was true that if he did as they asked he would be allowed to go free. But the plain fact was that he held no opinion. This was the truthful answer, and the only one they would not accept. He gave a great sigh. Neither could he lie to them, say easily yes or no, for they were accomplished interrogators and needed no extra-sensory powers to tell them he lied.
The memory of Vane’s tortured body came to him yet again and held his tongue under brutal outrage, had refused to mention his, Coman’s existence, even when he must have known he would die. Another moment passed and then he said, watching them crane forward to catch the words: ‘I should think it’s about time I had another rest.’
Perhaps three seconds passed before this sank in, and then the fat man hit him across the eyes and he fell to the floor, white lights streaking across his eyeballs. As from a long distance he heard the grating voice say something indistinguishable and Orvil reply: ‘What’s the use? It would be a waste of time. I’ll give the order to have him blasted.’
It was then that a buzzing noise came from the mechanism on the table and Orvil spoke again: ‘Speaking. Yes, we’ve finished. No, I don’t – what did you say? Who? Oh, he has, has he? Well, well, you’re only just in time. Never mind.’
There followed another silence and then Orvil’s chair was pushed back as he came to his feet. Coman heard the voice, soft and dispassionate: ‘Lucky old Coman. It seems that you do have one influential friend, and that you can go free after all.’
He bent down and, passing his arm through that of Coman’s, hauled him to his feet and helped him back to the chair. The other man has started to expostulate but Orvil silenced him with a wave of the hand.
‘Just one more thing we have to do before you leave, Coman, and that is to make sure we can find you again if circumstances make it necessary. A small capsule will be inserted in your body, a self-renewing transmitter upon which we can always make a ‘fix’ if we want to know where we can pick you up. Just relax, Mr Coman, and I’ll send for a robot to take you for treatment. I can assure you that it’s swiftly done, and quite painless.’ Orvil reached forward, flipped a switch on the instrument on the table and began to talk into it.
Daylight had completely gone and the interior of the building was lit by an incandescent glow which, however, did not prevent one from seeing the stars twinkling in the dome of sky, or the myriad lights of the city outside. The same official was still on duty at the desk. For the first time Coman allowed himself to think certainly of freedom, and as the robot released his arm he stepped shakily to the floor and leaned against the desk, still full of aches and pains but with strength returning with each new breath.
‘Here are all your things, except for the cigarettes, which have been confiscated. Check the list and sign here,’ said the yellow man, smiling as before and pushing a form and pen in Coman’s direction. He grimaced, perceived that the official was a smoker and had done most of the confiscating himself. Everything else was there, including his money, two hundred and five Koneas.
‘Just one other thing,’ said the man, as if as an afterthought, when he had checked Coman’s signature. ‘Under the regulations laid down in March 2078 regarding the apprehending of a person possessing cigarettes or tobacco, you are liable to a fine imposed on the spot.’
‘How much?’
‘Ah, just two hundred koneas. I’ll give you an official receipt.’
‘How kind.’
The other man smiled. ‘At least you have some cash to get home with, and plenty more in the bank, I’ve no doubt. You see, I know something about you, and with the pension you get as an ex-spaceman and the kickbacks from various rackets you must pull in as a government-recognised telepath I should think you do very well indeed. By the way, if you’d like to contribute a konea or two to our Police fund you’ll find a box by the lift at ground level.’
>
There was also somebody waiting for him at ground level. She stood, trim and neat, her eyes alive with welcome.
‘You poor darling, you’re limping,’ said Linnel.
‘Who paid the fine?’ Coman asked, although he knew already.
‘Marst. Oh, it wasn’t so much the thousand koneas – that was only a token – it was his name and influence. As soon as he knew you were in trouble he pulled strings, and certain people jumped like puppets.’
‘I see. And who told him about me?’
‘I did. Are you going to salute me?’ She had come close to him and her body was tense with excitement.
As Coman lay the tips of his fingers on her cheekbone Linnel shivered. He did not need to look into her mind to know that she believed this was her opportunity to possess him. He was weakened mentally and physically, and he needed comfort and somewhere to rest in peace. He could not go to Sein and Jonl yet, not until he knew the decision of the Committee – and other things.
‘How did you know – has it been broadcast?’
‘No, not a thing, on telecast or anything else. A robot told me.’
Coman stared at her, his brow furrowed, remembering the robot at Marst’s hotel. But Linnel shook her head. ‘No, it was in a shop in the Blage district. A magnificent modern thing which takes your money and gives directions to every body. I couldn’t believe it at first. It gave me my change and then it thought at me. Suddenly I saw the room, with Vane and everything that happened, and the detective, and you at the Central department. And as I stood there, bemused as you might say, the robot said: “Tell Marst.” Now what kind of trick was that? I knew that I hadn’t imagined the whole thing and I told Marst about it straight away.’
‘It’s a mystery to me too,’ said Coman, and taking her by the arm he steered her to the pavement and on to a westbound belt. Some young people were dancing and shouting on a belt passing near them, going south, and when they were gone he asked: ‘How did he take it?’
‘I told him everything, even about how I’d been installed by Harkor – thank the Devil for taking him! – and he listened in silence. When I’d finished he said: “So Coman has killed again.” And I said that wasn’t fair and it was an accident, and Harkor was a fiend anyway.’
‘What did he reply?’
‘He said nothing for a long while, and I was able to read him easily. He didn’t know what to think or what to do. I don’t think he’s ever been involved with real life and death before, and this didn’t fit into any of his precious categories of right and wrong. To think that his kind have to make decision that affect millions!’
‘Get on with it.’
‘Well, at last he said – trying to convince himself – “Nothing, nothing excuses killing – yet I’ll free him. I’ll get him out of there, if only to prevent him being killed.” So you see – he knows all about the wonderful police force here!’ Linnel turned her face up to him and said exultantly: ‘And you needn’t worry about that confession he’s got – he’s not going to use it against you.’
‘It wouldn’t matter now whether he did or not,’ said Coman. He knew now how Marst would vote, and suddenly he felt overcome with exhaustion, the events of the last hours reacting upon him like a cloud threatening to suffocate mind and body. It was then that he felt Linnel’s slim arm around his waist.
‘We’re going to my place for tonight, my lad,’ she said softly. ‘It’s nice and quiet, just on the edge of the Parkland – a room with a view. And I have some cigarettes …’
He felt unable to argue the point. For one thing he needed rest, and for another he had no intention of allowing the spy-capsule to remain in his body while there was still a chance of getting it out. And to get it out he needed help.
There was a seat on the belt some yards in front of them, but he felt incapable of reaching it even with her support, and they stood together until it was time to change to another belt proceeding to a spot near her address. This time they mounted straight into a double chair and he sat with his eyes closed, allowing all but the last guardian of his consciousness to succumb to the waves of tiredness now pouring over him.
From far away, it seemed, he heard Linnel call his name, and immediately he was in command of himself once more, out of the seat and following her guiding hand almost before his eyes had opened. A narrow street, some lights, the sound of voices quarrelling, the tremulous wail of a Venusian flute, and then they were inside a tall building, travelling upwards to the fifteenth floor.
The flat was small but comfortable, thickly carpeted with imitation green moss, a bathroom with robot massaging equipment, and in the bedroom a large sunken bed, electrically temperatured. Coman sank down upon this gratefully and, while Linnel made coffee, he stripped off his shirt and probed with the little finger of his right hand for the spot where they had inserted the capsule. After a moment he found it, near the nipple, inserted perhaps a quarter of an inch below the flesh, adhering to the fourth rib on his left side. When she brought the coffee he said: ‘I want you to do something for me.’
‘Anything!’ she said, but then, reading his mind, her expression changed to one of concern.
He nodded. ‘I’ve been “fixed” on their precious radar system, and I want to alter the situation before the hole is healed. Can you see it?’
She inspected the place he indicated and after a few seconds nodded. ‘It’s very tiny. Do you really think …’
Coman reached for his jacket and found the small wallet the police had returned to him. Inside, among the instruments was a long, hair-thin needle, the lower part of which was antiseptically treated. Handing it to Linnel he lay on his back and said: ‘Now get up close, and hold the needle gently but firmly. Make certain that it is absolutely vertical and in the centre of the puncture, so take your time. When you’re sure, press slowly down until you feel the obstruction. Then give an extra jab to the needle and pull it out immediately. With luck the capsule should come too. All right?’
‘I – suppose so,’ she said. She had a horror of needles being inserted in her own flesh and was not sure she would be able to do it to him. Seeing this, he smiled reassuringly.
‘Come now, it won’t take a moment and then we can relax. Put hour knees either side of my waist and sit on me – that way you can work carefully and without any awkwardness.’
After a moment’s hesitation Linnel did so and, avoiding his eyes, took up the needle and did as she had been told. When the time came to push down on it, she held her breath, tiny beads of perspiration on her nostrils, but the needle went in slowly until it hit something, perhaps merely the solidity of bone. Coman was sweating himself now, although the pain was slight. The surgeon had put the capsule into him in the lying position, but just a fraction of difference in the way he held his chest now might render this little operation worthless, and another attempt would only complicate matters.
‘Now a little push, a tap with the finger would be better – and pull out.’
At first Linnel could detect nothing – only a drop of blood on the end of the instrument – but Coman smiled, took the needle from her, put it in his mouth, then held it up for inspection. The capsule was there transfixed, so tiny that it was only just visible to the naked eye.
‘You hit the target. I don’t like the idea of being a walking transmitter.’
‘Won’t they find out?’ she asked faintly.
‘Who cares?’
Suddenly and simultaneously they both became very conscious of their nearness, and gazed in silence into each other’s eyes. The warmth of Linnel’s body struck into Coman and his fingers, as if of their own volition, strayed lightly over her knees. Looking into her he saw that, like Jonl, she was a woman who liked playing the man and a certain femininity within himself responded instinctively.
‘Er – what about the coffee, won’t it get cold?’ he murmured.
‘To hell with the coffee,’ she replied huskily, and slowly, her lips slightly apart, bent over him and began to kiss him.<
br />
In the morning he woke to find the hot sun, reflected from the ceiling, bathing his head with radiance. Linnel was still asleep and he slipped from the bed and regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. She seemed like a child, curled beneath the sheets, her mouth drawn down a little at the corners, as if she were sulking, and he felt a great tenderness for her. It was impossible to know how she would end, but certainly she had changed, would continue to change, from the woman he had met at the swimming pool.
He went into the bathroom and helped himself to its various services. When he returned dressed, Linnel was sitting up combing her hair. Lighting a cigarette from the packet she had given him, he asked: ‘Have you finished working for Marst?’
‘Yes. He doesn’t need me any longer.’ She spoke softly, paying little heed to what they were saying, her mind searching, trying to find how he felt towards her this morning. But he had put up blocks and she was unable to satisfy her curiosity.
‘Have you enough money?’ he asked.
Linnel shrugged. ‘Enough. Marst was generous. I was supposed to be paid five hundred koneas by Harkor, but I’ve had that now. I dare not contact the rest of the mob.’
‘Do any of them know you’re staying here?’
‘Only Harkor – and I don’t suppose he’s told anyone else. Why, were you thinking of paying me?’
He smiled. ‘Whatever you want, within reason.’
‘What was it worth, Coman?’
He stared at her and she gazed back into his eyes intently, and then they both laughed. Turning from her he went to the window and gazed out. In the distance, the park spread out like a great fan and the white dome of the Central Government Chamber gleamed under an intensely blue sky.
‘Who were the people who employed Harkor?’ he asked.
‘I know as little about them as you do. They are high in legitimate crime, profiteering and corruption. Harkor said they’re so powerful that he couldn’t understand why they were bothered anyway.’
A Man of Double Deed Page 14
