Thad said, "And this Total Security guy, Gunder, is still checking up on me."
"We know about Gunder. So far all the pieces of your phony background that we planted are holding up." He took an angry bite out of the kelpdoughnut. "There is one thing, though. Gunder's been able to get a lead on some old medical records of the authentic Robert I. These include things like a brain-wave recording."
Thad poked his tongue up under his upper lip to produce a popping sound. "Then I should get out of there soon as I can."
"We may be able to sidetrack Gunder. But a little swiftness wouldn't hurt," said Rich. "Haven't you got anything on the Hellhound Project?"
"Not as much as a mention," answered Thad. "I gather from Alex that there's a gentlemen's agreement to keep most of the security stuff away from me until I've proven myself."
"So they still don't quite accept you as the real thing."
"The old man does. It's Robert II who's plugging for second-class status for me I think," said Thad. "Alex calls me 'Father'."
Rich finished the doughnut. "I only eat these things when I'm in a tense situation." He wandered over to a blank metallic wall, leaned with his back against it. "Rosenfeld tells me the girl was with you when the
gamekeeper tried to pot you. Did she maybe set you up?"
"No," answered Thad.
"You sure?"
"She could have been killed herself. The damn machine was shooting all over the place."
Rich watched him for a few seconds. "Keep remembering Jean-Anne is your grand-niece."
"I know who she is."
"Living with all your loved ones over the holidays has mellowed you, McIntosh," Rich told him. "You're not the crusty son-of-a-bitch I dragged out of the lower depths of Manhattan a couple of months ago."
"You turned me into sweet-tempered Bobby." Thad left his chair to walk toward the small OP man. "Don't worry about my judgment being screwed up, Rich."
"O.K., O.K." Rich held his palms toward the approaching Thad. "Get back to the estate now and get us some results. You may—"
"I know," cut in Thad. "I may not have all that much time."
Nodding, Rich repeated, "You may not have all that much time. We aren't certain what Lyle Gunder and his Total Security boys may come up with. Besides . . ."
"Somebody out there may try to kill me again."
X
The second attempt came the following day.
Early in the afternoon Badjett tapped discreetly on the door of Thad's den with his aluminum fist.
"Beg pardon, sir. Mr. John would like you to join him."
Pushing aside a fresh bundle of micrographs, Thad stood. "Sure, O.K."
Badjett entered, holding out an all-season hiking jacket. "I think this will be suitable, Mr. Robert I."
"Suitable for what?"
"Since the day is so mild, Mr. John is in the mood to spend some time out-of-doors, sir."
"I didn't know Johnny ever went out where he couldn't control the temperature." He allowed the cyborg butler to help him into his coat. "Where do I find him?"
"He will await you at the snow-car barn," replied Badjett. "You know where that is, I trust."
Thad grinned. "Yes, I do, Badjett. Just this side of our private lake."
He went downstairs, seaming up the jacket. Instead of heading immediately outside, Thad ducked into the connecting tunnel. Old J.P. must have something pertaining to the Hellhound in his study, he said to himself as he jogged through the tinted tube. Now's a good time to look.
Thad made it through House Two and halfway along the seablue-tinted see-through tunnel linking it to House Three.
Then a loud rapping commenced on the wall of the tube.
Slowing, Thad looked to his left. Alex was out there, an awkward smile touching his lean face. "Father," he said.
Thad couldn't hear him but he could tell what Alex was mouthing. "Yes, what?"
"J.P. is . . . uh . . . waiting for you down there." He pointed one gloved hand back. "I . . . uh ... just ran into him and he . . . uh . . . asked me to see what was keeping you." Alex' breath made fuzzy puffballs on the other side of the tunnel wall.
"I thought he wanted me to meet him in his study." Thad returned to House Two and let himself out into the day. By then Alex was gone.
The snow was soft underfoot, slightly muddy in color. The sun felt warm in the hazy afternoon air. Beside the big peak-roofed red synthwood barn the old man was standing alone, bent and resting one knobby hand against the barn door.
"I've had them warm up my snowcar," said J.P. "If you'll help me in, Bob, we can get started on a little ride."
The vehicle had narrow noryl skis on its underside and was the size of a small landcar. It had two
passenger cockpits, both open and unshielded. "One of our own designs I see," said Thad as he boosted the old man into the rear seat. "Where to?"
"Nowhere in particular, Bob." The old man buckled himself in. "It's the feeling of swift movement and rushing air I enjoy."
Thad took the control seat, eased the snowcar out of the shadowy barn. He guided it along level ground, paralleling the wide, frozen lake.
"I wanted to talk with you, Bob."
"O.K., do."
"If you've been feeling that I don't quite accept you or trust you," said the old man, "please try to understand it isn't because ..."
The entire rear-end of the snow-car exploded. Jagged shards of plastic, twisted metal struts, chunks of the compact engine went splattering through the air. The controls seemed to jerk free of Thad as the remains of the machine careened down toward the ice-covered lake.
Thad grabbed the release on his safety belt, jumped up onto his seat and flung himself clear. He hit the slushy snow on his left elbow and knee. His ankle wouldn't work the first time he tried to rise.
After three tries he got himself upright. He spun, went running toward the lake.
The snowcar hung in the air between the snowy ground and the lake. Its backside was nearly gone, a black sooty tangle trailing streamers of harsh blue smoke.
The old man, still strapped in, was slumped far to the left.
The vehicle hit the ice, bounced twice and went skidding in dizzy arcs. The sun-warmed ice groaned, began to crack.
Thad dropped down on his stomach, started to work his way out across the ice of the lake.
The snowcar was moving more slowly. It stopped entirely some thirty feet from the shore.
Reaching the thing, Thad carefully pulled himself up by the runners.
J.P. was alive, but a fragment of the exploded car had torn a wide gash across the back of his head.
Thad ripped him free of the belts, hefted the old man out of the snowcar.
The ice cracked further, with a great wrenching sound.
Flat out again, Thad dragged J.P. back toward the white shore.
"I don't," murmured the old man. "I don't . . . understand."
"Understand what?"
"The gamekeeper," he said. "The gamekeeper . . . malfunctioned. Now the snowcar. It's not . . . typical of Walbrook products. Not at all. I—" He passed over into unconsciousness as Thad got him safely onto solid ground.
XI
"Ever been down here before, Unc?"
Thad was sitting next to a window of the private Walbrook auto-jet. It was early morning outside. "Back in the Twentieth Century," he answered. "It wasn't New Rio then, of course."
"All the wars of liberation here pretty much finished off this part of Brazil," said Lon. "New Rio they built on top of the ruins, proving there's hope for all of us. Right, Sis?"
In the seat next to Thad Jean-Anne said, "I'm starting to have doubts that applies to you."
Lon laughed. "You've been in New Rio before haven't you, Sis? On your first honeymoon as I recall, or was it the second? Were you in any shape to get an impression of—"
"Go sit up with the robot again," Thad told him.
"Don't let our sibling kidding annoy you, Unc." Lon shuffled along the th
ick airship carpeting to the door he'd just come through. "I came to tell you we'll be landing at our Walbrook field in fifteen minutes. Cheer up, Sis."
"I have," Jean-Anne said to Thad, "mixed feelings about this jaunt, Uncle."
"I'm glad you're along. Being alone in Brazil for a week with Lon—"
"Oh, I enjoy being with you." She smiled a quiet smile. "It's simply that Lon has a way of ... well, I do
know why Grandfather wanted me to accompany you."
"Probably wants you to act as a bodyguard," said Thad, watching the girl's profile.
"Yes, he's been terribly worried since the snowcar accident last week." She locked her hands together, hooked them over one knee. "I know they couldn't find anything wrong with the snowcar or with Chambers Twenty-six."
"It was Twenty-six and not Twenty-five then."
"Yes," she said, frowning. "Don't make it a joke. I'm worried, too. You could have been killed ... twice. And Grandfather as well, the last time."
"These accidents have had one positive result," Thad told the girl. "Johnny has finally taken me completely into his confidence."
"Yes, he appreciates you saving his life. He's grateful and he's not going to let them—" She stopped herself, then said, "I don't know if you'll be happy about what you're going to learn down here."
"I have to know everything Walbrook Enterprises is up to, including this . . . what's it called again? . . . Hellhound Project."
"Yes, that's the name."
"What is it?"
"You'll see when we get to the lab complex outside New Rio," said Jean-Anne. "Can we talk about something else now, please?"
"Sports, literature, the theater? I'm still fifty years out of touch, but—"
The girl put her hand on his. "I'll tell you about the last time I was in New Rio."
A vast strip of formal garden stretched between the lab complex and the rim of the enormous one-way dome which shielded it. There was a jungle brightness all about, intensely green palms, scarlet blooms, great tangles of purple vine. Yellow butterflies flickered high above, multicolored birds called from the branches of high, twisting trees.
Lon laughed, stretching up his arms. "This is what I call a slice of the good life, Unc."
His eyes on the distant cluster of gray domes which made up the Walbrook lab complex, Thad said, "It's greener than Connecticut. Now, when do we get a look at the Hellhound?" They'd beet/ here nearly a half hour, Lon giving them a leisurely tour of the grounds.
"No rush, Unc," said Lon. "Life in South America is paced differently, you know. I'll bet, Sis, you found it even took longer to pick up—"
"I'd just as well go inside." Jean-Anne was holding on to Thad's arm.
"In due time," chuckled her brother. "I thought we'd have a little refreshment out here." His fingers snapped.
Rustling sounded behind them. Thad spun, shaking free of the girl.
It was a silver waiter robot, rolling toward them with a serving tray. The robot had a black mustache.
"Mustache is my idea," said Lon. "Latin touch, Unc."
"Very sophisticated."
"This is real coffee." Lon took two cups off the tray, handing them to Thad and Jean-Anne. "It's still legal in Brazil. Sorry I can't serve you anything harder, Sis."
"You're much too jolly," the dark girl said. "What do you—?"
"Nothing, Sis, honest. It's simply that New Rio excites me." He took the third cup and dismissed the robot. "Carry on, Joaquim." He made an urging gesture with his hand. "Come on, folks, try this great authentic coffee." When they did, he nodded happily.
Jean-Anne began to frowh. She moved to the edge of the mossy path, pushed some high yellow ferns aside. "Lon, these lab animals must have gotten loose."
"Oh, really?"
In a small clearing three chimpanzees were huddled together near the bole of a tree.
"Probably only decorations." Lon slurped at his coffee.
"No, they aren't. See, they have ID tabs on their ankles."
"Huh." Lon beckoned Thad. "What do you think, Unc? Are these lab animals or what?"
Thad joined the others. "They look frightened."
"How can anyone, even a chimp, be afraid out here in this Eden?" asked Lon, laughing.
The chimpanzees grew more agitated now. They held on to each other, pushing back against the tree.
"The trouble with them," observed Lon, "is they know what's been happening to their buddies. So we're not going to get a pure surprise reaction. However . . ."
Thad felt something was approaching, but he didn't see or hear anything. Then, for an instant, he saw three tiny flashes of light over the clearing.
The chimps separated, began trying to climb up into the tree.
One of them got as high as the lowest branch. It gave a chittering scream, fell to the ground clutching at itself. It died in midair.
The other two chimpanzees fell. They twitched for only a few seconds, evacuated and died.
"Oh, damn you, Lon." Jean-Anne hit against him with one clenched hand. "Damn you." She turned, went running away from them.
Thad nodded at the dead chimps. "What did it?"
Lon replied, "What else? The Hellhound."
XII
The middle-sized man was holding it between thumb and forefinger. "I'm justifiably proud of it, my boy," he told Thad.
They were all in an oval room deep within the lab complex. The walls were tinted the same soft blue as Dr. E. Jack Nally's one-piece labsuit.
Thad walked a few steps closer to the black doctor. "So that's the Hellhound."
Jean-Anne, pale, was leaning against a work table. "That's one of three types, isn't it?"
"Very good, dear girl," said Dr. Nally. "You're showing a much keener knowledge of our activities these days."
"She's between husbands, Prof," said Lon. "She's got more time to use the other end of her body." Thad narrowed his eyes, studying the tiny copper-colored object in the lab director's hand. "Looks like a gnat."
"Yes, doesn't it," agreed Dr. Nally. "A harmless little gnat." He let the tiny object roll down into his pink palm, closed his fingers over it. "Yet it is one of the most deadly antipersonnel weapons ever devised, if I do say so myself."
"How does it work?"
"This particular model seeks out body heat," explained the amiable Dr. Nally. "In the demonstration you recently witnessed outdoors, my boy, a few adjustments were made, to make certain it sought out only the monks."
Jean-Anne said, "That was most thoughtful."
"Don't be so peevish, Sis. There was something in the coffee to give you temporary immunity to this particular model."
Dr. Nally tossed the Hellhound, caught it. "What you see here, my boy, is a perfect, micro-miniaturized, antipersonnel missile," he said to Thad. "This particular model, to repeat, seeks out its victims by their body heat and then delivers a lethal shot of quick-acting nerve poison. Death usually supervenes within fifteen seconds." "Kills with a sting," said Thad.
"Similar to a sting, but much more deadly," replied the black Nally. "Incidentally, on this new, improved model we're running about eighty-five percent effective on kills."
"Hey, that's fifteen percent better than the earlier model, Prof."
"Yes," smiled the lab head. "I'm sure it will be more than satisfactory to the Multi-Pentagon in Washington. They almost accepted that last model, until I talked them into renegotiating the contract and coughing up another quarter billion. I think everyone concerned is going to admit it was worth it, more than worth it."
Thad asked, "This is for battlefield use only?"
Dr. Nally's eyes clicked in the direction of Lon before he answered. "This one is, yes. You understand, our own military personnel will be rendered immune to the Hellhounds. I have a miniaturized antimissile device, a spray-on repellent and an oral repellent."
"That was what I spiked our java with, Unc," said Lon.
"Can I see the anti-Hellhound stuff?" asked Thad.
"Shortly, yes.
I think the antimissile device, while costlier, affords the best protection," said the black scientist. "As I'll try to demonstrate in a moment. Now, admittedly, an enemy might come up with a countermeasure of his own. However, in wars such as we've been having lately the enemy has usually been of a simple, uneducated sort. It isn't immediately likely they'd come up with anything to stop us. And should they, or their allies, why we can then—"
"There are other types of Hellhound?" asked Thad.
"Yes, my boy."
"How do they differ?"
Lon said, "Wait until tonight, Unc. I'm arranging another little demo for you and Sis over at our tower offices in the heart of New Rio. Can you make it?"
"I'll make it," said Thad.
Thad walked into the tower room an hour after sunset. The sky above New Rio was a dark blue still, the lights of the vast city were starting to snap on. New Rio was a multilevel city, its buildings linked by a crosshatch of ramps. The lights illuminating the twisting, circling ramps flashed on and off, in soft pastel shades. Political slogans glowed on the sides of government buildings.
"Who was your fifth-grade Ceramic Therapy teacher?"
Thad saw Lyle Gunder, the large blond Total Security agent, rocking in a mosaic chair in a dark corner of the Walbrook Enterprises office. "Miss Cooper," he answered.
"Aha!" Gunder bounced out of the chair. "Caught you, it was Miss Santos."
"Only for the first part of the semester. Miss Santos ran off with a potter."
Gunder sank back into his tile rocker. "You're absolutely right," he admitted. "Be smug while you can. I've got hold of Robert B. Walbrook I's complete medical dossier, which we originally thought was lost when Detroit and environs went blooey. It's being faxphoned down here to New Rio. Care to submit to a few little—"
"Hold off on the inquisition, Gunny." Lon was standing beside a long tin desk on which sat a television receiver.
"Why this twilight test?" Thad asked him.
"Only following Gramps' wishes," smiled Lon. "He wants you to be filled in on everything, Unc."
"This is a whopping mistake on the old coot's part." Gunder grunted out of the chair. "What was your favorite book when you were ten?"
Gift-Wrapped & Toe-Tagged: A Melee of Misc. Holiday Anthology Page 58
