He stifled his anger and controlled himself. He took her hands and kissed her palms.
«It's all finished, Olivia,» he said gently. «But I love you. Always. Forever.»
«I'll sum it up,» Dagenham rapped. «We were bombed the night we found Foyle. We lost him on the Moon and found him a week later on Mars. We were bombed again. We lost him again. He's been lost for a week. Another bombing's due. Which one of the Inner Planets? Venus? The Moon? Terra again? Who knows. But we all know this: one more raid without retaliation and we're lost.»
He glanced around the table. Against the ivory-and-gold background of the Star Chamber of Castle Presteign, his face, all three faces, looked strained. Y'ang-Yeovil slitted his eyes in a frown. Presteign compressed his thin lips.
«And we know this too,» Dagenham continued. «We can't retaliate without PyrE and we can't locate the PyrE without Foyle.»
«My instructions were,» Presteign interposed, «that PyrE was not to be mentioned in public.»
«In the first place, this is not public,» Dagenham snapped. «It's a private information pool. In the second place, we've gone beyond property rights. We're discussing survival, and we've all got equal rights in that. Yes, Jiz?»
Jisbella McQueen had jaunted into the Star Chamber, looking intent and furious.
«Still no sign of Foyle.»
«Old St. Pat's still being watched?»
«Yes.»
«Commando Brigade's report in from Mars yet?»
«That's my business and Most Secret,» Y'ang-Yeovil objected mildly.
«You've got as few secrets from me as I have from you.» Dagenham grinned mirthlessly. «See if you can beat Central Intelligence back here with that report, Jiz. Go.»
She disappeared.
«About property rights,» Y'ang-Yeovil murmured. «May I suggest to Presteign that Central Intelligence will guarantee full payment to him for his right, title, and interest in PyrE?»
«Don't coddle him, Yeovil.»
«This conference is being recorded,» Presteign said, coldly. «The Captain's offer is now on file.» He turned his basilisk face to Dagenham. «You are in my employ, Mr. Dagenham. Please control your references to myself.»
«And to your property?» Dagenham inquired with a deadly smile. «You and your damned property. All of you and all of your damned property have put us in this hole. The system's on the edge of total annihilation for the sake of your property. I'm not exaggerating. It will be a shooting war to end all wars if we can't stop it.»
«We can always surrender,» Presteign answered.
«No,» Y'ang-Yeovil said. «That's already been discussed and discarded at HQ. We know the post-victory plans of the Outer Satellites. They involve total exploitation of the Inner Planets. We're to be gutted and worked until nothing's left. Surrender would be as disastrous as defeat.»
«But not for Presteign,» Dagenham added.
«Shall we say .. . present company excluded?» Y'ang-Yeovil replied gracefully.
«All right, Presteign,» Dagenham swiveled in his chair. «Give.»
«I beg your pardon, sir?»
«Let's hear all about PyrE. I've got an idea how we can bring Foyle out into the open and locate the stuff, but I've got to know all about it first. Make your contribution.»
«No,» Presteign answered.
«No, what?»
«I have decided to withdraw from this information pool. I will reveal nothing about PyrE.»
«For God's sake, Presteign! Are you insane? What's got into you? Are you fighting Regis Sheffield's Liberal party again?»
«It's quite simple, Dagenham,» Y'ang-Yeovil interposed. «My information about the surrender-defeat situation has shown Presteign a way to better his position. No doubt he intends negotiating a sale to the enemy in return for. . . property advantages.»
«Can nothing move you?» Dagenham asked Presteign scornfully. «Can nothing touch you? Are you all property and nothing else? Go away, Jiz! The whole thing's fallen apart.»
Jisbella had jaunted into the Star Chamber again. «Commando Brigade's reported,» she said. «We know what happened to Foyle.»
«What?»
«Presteign's got him.»
«What!» Both Dagenham and Y'ang-Yeovil started to their feet.
«He left Mars in a private yawl, was shot up, and was observed being picked up by the Presteign S.S. 'Vorga.»
«Damn you, Presteign,» Dagenham snapped. «So that's why you've been…”
«Wait,» Y'ang-Yeovil commanded. «It's news to him too, Dagenham. Look at him.»
Presteign's handsome face had gone the color of ashes. He tried to rise and fell back stiffly in his chair. «Olivia . . .» he whispered. «With him…That scum . . .»
«Presteign?»
«My daughter, gentlemen, has . . .for some time been engaged in certain activities. The family vice. Blood and…I . . . have managed to close my eyes to it . . . Had almost convinced myself that I was mistaken. I . . . But Foyle! Dirt! Filth! He must be destroyed!» Presteign's voice soared alarmingly. His head twisted back like a hanged man's and his body began to shudder.
«What in the…?»
«Epilepsy,» Y'ang-Yeovil said. He pulled Presteign out of the chair onto the floor. «A spoon, Miss McQueen. Quick!» He levered Presteign's teeth open and placed a spoon between them to protect the tongue. As suddenly as it had begun, the seizure was over. The shuddering stopped. Presteign opened his eyes.
«Petit ma1,» Y'ang-Yeovil murmured, withdrawing the spoon. «But he'll be dazed for a while.»
Suddenly Presteign began speaking in a low monotone. «PyrE is a pyrophoric alloy. A pyrophore is a metal which emits sparks when scraped or struck. PyrE emits energy, which is why E, the energy symbol, was added to the prefix Pyr. PyrE is a solid solution of transplutonian isotopes, releasing thermonuclear energy on the order of stellar Phoenix action. It's discoverer was of the opinion that he had produced the equivalent of the primordial protomatter which exploded into the Universe.»
«My God!» Jisbella exclaimed.
Dagenham silenced her with a gesture and bent over Presteign. «How is it brought to critical mass, Presteign? How is the energy released?»
«As the original energy was generated in the beginning of time,» Presteign droned. «Through Will and Idea.»
«I'm convinced he's a Cellar Christian,» Dagenham muttered to Y'angYeovil. He raised his voice. «Will you explain, Presteign?»
«Through Will and Idea,» Presteign repeated. «PyrE can only be exploded by psychokinesis. Its energy can only be released by thought. It must be willed to explode and the thought directed at it. That is the only way.»
«There's no key? No formula?»
«No. Only Will and Idea are necessary.» The glazed eyes closed.
«God in heaven!» Dagenham mopped his brow. «Will this give the Outer Satellites pause, Yeovil?»
«It'll give us all pause.»
«It's the road to hell,» Jisbella said.
«Then let's find it and get off the road. Here's my idea, Yeovil. Foyle was tinkering with that hell brew in his lab in Old St. Pat's, trying to analyze it.»
«I told you that in strict confidence,» Jisbella said furiously.
«I'm sorry, dear. We're past honor and the decencies. Now look, Yeovil, there must be some fragments of the stuff lying about. . . as dust, in solution, in precipitates. . . We've got to detonate those fragments and blow the hell out of Foyle's circus.»
«Why?»
«To bring him running. He must have the bulk of the PyrE hidden there somewhere. He'll come to salvage it.»
«What if it blows up too?»
«It can't, not inside an Inert Lead Isotope safe.»
«Maybe it's not all inside.»
«Jiz says it is . . .at least so Foyle reported.»
«Leave me out of this,» Jisbella said.
«Anyway, we'll have to gamble.»
«Gamble!» Y'ang-Yeovil exclaimed. «On a Phoenix action? You'll gamble the solar s
ystem into a brand new nova.»
«What else can we do? Pick any other road . . and it's the road to destruction too. Have we got any choice?»
«We can wait,» Jisbella said.
«For what? For Foyle to blow us up himself with his tinkering?»
«We can warn him.»
«We don't know where he is.»
«We can find him.»
«How soon? Won't that be a gamble too? And what about that stuff lying around waiting for someone to think it into energy? Suppose a Jack-jaunter gets in and cracks the safe, looking for goodies? And then we don't just have dust waiting for an accidental thought, but twenty pounds.»
Jisbella turned pale. Dagenham turned to the Intelligence man. «You make the decision, Yeovil. Do we try it my way or do we wait?»
Y'ang-Yeovil sighed. «I was afraid of this,» he said. «Damn all scientists. I'll have to make my decision for a reason you don't know, Dagenham. The Outer Satellites are on to this too. We've got reason to believe that they've got agents looking for Foyle in the worst way. If we wait they may pick him up before us. In fact, they may have him now.»
«So your decision is . . .”
«The blow-up. Let's bring Foyle running if we can.»
«No!» Jisbella cried.
«How?» Dagenham asked, ignoring her.
«Oh, I've got just the one for the job. A one-way telepath named Robin Wednesbury.»
«When?»
«At once. We'll clear the entire neighborhood. We'll get full news coverage and do a full broadcast. If Foyle's anywhere in the Inner Planets, he'll hear about it.»
«Not about it,» Jisbella said in despair. «He'll hear it. It'll be the last thing any of us hear.»
«Will and Idea,» Presteign whispered.
As always, when he returned from a stormy civil court session in Leningrad, Regis Sheffield was pleased and complacent, rather like a cocky prizefighter who's won a tough fight. He stopped off at Blekmann's in Berlin for a drink and some war talk, had a second and more war talk in a legal hangout on the Quai D'Orsay, and a third session in the Skin amp; Bones opposite Temple Bar. By the time he arrived in his New York office he was pleasantly illuminated.
As he strode through the clattering corridors and outer rooms, he was greeted by his secretary with a handful of memo-beads.
«Knocked Djargo-Dantchenko for a loop,» Sheffield reported triumphantly. «Judgment and full damages. Old DD's sore as a boil. This makes the score eleven to five, my favor.» He took the beads, juggled them, and then began tossing them into unlikely receptacles all over the office, including the open mouth of a gaping clerk.
«Really, Mr. Sheffield! Have you been drinking?»
«No more work today. The war news is too damned gloomy. Have to do something to stay cheerful. What say we brawl in the streets?»
«Mr. Sheffield!»
«Anything waiting for me that can't wait another day?»
«There's a gentleman in your office.»
«He made you let him get that far?» Sheffield looked impressed. «Who is he? God, or somebody?»
«He won't give his name. He gave me this.»
The secretary handed Sheffield a sealed envelope. On it was scrawled:
«URGENT.» Sheffield tore it open, his blunt features crinkling with curiosity. Then his eyes widened. Inside the envelope were two ~r 50,000 notes. Sheffield turned without a word and burst into his private office. Foyle arose from his chair.
«These are genuine,» Sheffield blurted.
«To the best of my knowledge.»
«Exactly twenty of these notes were minted last year. All are on deposit in Terran treasuries. How did you get hold of these two?»
«Mr. Sheffield?»
«Who else? How did you get hold of these notes?»
«Bribery.»
«Why?»
«I thought at the time that it might be convenient to have them available.»
«For what? More bribery?»
«If legal fees are bribery.»
«I set my own fees,» Sheffield said. He tossed the notes back to Foyle. «You can produce them again if I decide to take your case and if I decide I've been worth that to you. What's your problem?»
«Criminal.»
«Don't be too specific yet. And . . .
«I want to give myself up.»
«To the police?»
«Yes.»
«For what crime?»
«Crimes.»
«Name two.»
«Robbery and rape.»
«Name two more.»
«Blackmail and murder.»
«Any other items?»
«Treason and genocide.»
«Does that exhaust your catalogue?»
«I think so. We may be able to unveil a few more when we get specific.»
«Been busy, haven't you? Either you're the Prince of Villains or insane.»
«I've been both, Mr. Sheffield.»
«Why do you want to give yourself up?»
«I've come to my senses,» Foyle answered bitterly.
«I don't mean that. A criminal never surrenders while he's ahead. You're obviously ahead. What's the reason?»
«The most damnable thing that ever happened to a man. I picked up a rare disease called conscience.»
Sheffield snorted. «That can often turn fatal.»
«It is fatal. I've realized that I've been behaving like an animal.»
«And now you want to purge yourself?»
«No, it isn't that simple,» Foyle said grimly. «That's why I've come to you . . for major surgery. The man who upsets the morphology of society is a cancer. The man who gives his own decisions priority over society is a criminal. But there are chain reactions. Purging yourself with punishment isn't enough. Everything's got to be set right. I wish to God everything could be cured just by sending me back to Gouffre Martel or shooting me. . .»
«Back?» Sheffield cut in keenly.
«Shall I be specific?»
«Not yet. Go on. You sound as though you've got ethical growing pains.»
«That's it exactly.» Foyle paced in agitation, crumpling the banknotes with nervous fingers. «This is one hell of a mess, Sheffield. There's a girl that's got to pay for a vicious, rotten crime. The fact that I love her…No, never mind that. She has a cancer that's got to be cut out . . . like me. Which means I'll have to add informing to my catalogue. The fact that I'm giving myself up too doesn't make any difference.»
«What is all this mish-mash?»
Foyle turned on Sheffield. «One of the New Year's bombs has just walked into your office, and it's saying: 'Put it all right. Put me together again and send me home. Put together the city I flattened and the people I shattered.' That's what I want to hire you for. I don't know how most criminals feel, but…”
«Sensible, matter-of-fact, like good businessmen who've had bad luck,» Sheffield answered promptly. «That's the usual attitude of the professional criminal. It's obvious you're an amateur, if you're a criminal at all. My dear sir, do be sensible. You come here, extravagantly accusing yourself of robbery, rape, murder, genocide, treason, and God knows what else. D'you expect me to take you seriously?»
Bunny, Sheffield's assistant, jaunted into the private office. «Chief!» he shouted in excitement. «Something brand new's turned up. A lech-jaunte! Two society kids bribed a C-class tart to…Ooop. Sorry. Didn't realize you had…” Bunny broke off and stared. «Fourmyle!» he exclaimed.
«What? Who?» Sheffield demanded.
«Don't you know him, Chief?» Bunny stammered. «That's Fourmyle of Ceres, Gully Foyle.»
More than a year ago, Regis Sheffield had been hypnotically fulminated and triggered for this moment. His body had been prepared to respond without thought, and the response was lightning. Sheffield struck Foyle in half a second; temple, throat and groin. It had been decided not to depend on weapons since none might be available.
Foyle fell. Sheffield turned on Bunny and battered him back across the office. Then he
spat into his palm. It had been decided not to depend on drugs'since drugs might not be available. Sheffield's salivary glands had been prepared to respond with an anaphylaxis secretion to the stimulus. He ripped open Foyle's sleeve, dug a nail deep into the hollow of Foyle's elbow and slashed. He pressed his spittle into the ragged cut and pinched the skin together.
A strange cry was torn from Foyle's lips; the tattooing showed livid on his face. Before the stunned law assistant could make a move, Sheffield swung Foyle up to his shoulder and jaunted.
He arrived in the middle of the Four Mile Circus in Old St. Pat's. It was a daring but calculated move. This was the last place he would be expected to go, and the first place where he might expect to locate the PyrE. He was prepared to deal with anyone he might meet in the cathedral, but the interior of the circus was empty.
The vacant tents ballooning up in the nave looked tattered; they had already been looted. Sheffield plunged into the first he saw. It was Fourmyle's traveling library, filled with hundreds of books and thousands of glittering novel-beads. The Jack-jaunters were not interested in literature. Sheffield threw Foyle down on the floor. Only then did he take a gun from his pocket.
Foyle's eyelids fluttered; his eyes opened.
«You're drugged,» Sheffield said rapidly. «Don't try to jaunte. And don't move. I'm warning you, I'm prepared for anything.»
Dazedly, Foyle tried to rise. Sheffield instantly fired and seared his shoulder. Foyle was slammed back against the stone flooring. He was numbed and bewildered. There was a roaring in his ears and a poison coursing through his blood.
«I'm warning you,» Sheffield repeated. «I'm prepared for anything.»
«What do you want?» Foyle whispered.
«Two things. Twenty pounds of PyrE, and you. You most of all.»
«You lunatic! You damned maniac! I came into your office to give it up hand it over . . .»
«To the O.S.?»
«To the . . .what?»
«The Outer Satellites? Shall I spell it for you?»
«No. . .» Foyle muttered. «I might have known. The patriot, Sheffield, an O.S. agent. I should have known. I'm a fool.»
The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! ) Page 20
