We were approaching the main corridor and the elevator I'd use to reach my deck when Leslie stepped out of the doorway of that deck's coffee shop. When I looked through the window and saw what looked like a Belgian pastry shop with a coffee bar, I looked up at the sign over the door. It said 'coffee shop', not 'pastry shop'.
"Hi, Leslie. Did you notice that the coffee bar is only about ten percent of the coffee shop? Makes you wonder who was naming things that day."
Leslie nodded, then said, “I was waiting for you, Ed."
"I can see that. Where would you like to go from here?"
"Someplace where we can talk."
Someone had left a coffee cup behind the window's vinework. I field-moved it into the open so someone could pick it up later as I said, “Thought so. Lead on, then."
She stood uncertainly for a moment, then asked, “How about your room?"
I started walking again.
"Good enough. Wherever. We could even talk as we walk, Leslie. We don't have to be anywhere in particular to talk. What's bothering you?"
She glanced at me and said, “You are. You went from being kind and attentive to being something else entirely. Are you tired of me already?"
I grinned. “Nope. Not a chance of that, yet. Maybe later."
"That's not funny, Ed."
I shrugged. “It's true, though. I'm not tired of you, but if you don't open up and get down to what's bugging you, I'll get that way soon enough. You brought up needing to talk half an hour before I was due to meet the board. There was no time to go into things then. After that, I met with the board and had to take over the station to keep Stephie as the station's computer. That made a whole bunch of people unhappy as hell, I figure, and I'll have to deal with them in the coming days. Meanwhile, we still need to find whoever has been behind all the station problems and yesterday's events. Are you going to add to my pile by needing a lot of nursemaiding?"
Leslie stopped and glared at me.
"Nursemaiding?"
"Yeah. That. You've been through some changes and you're in a strange place with strange people and yesterday someone tried to kill us all. Does any of that bother you, ma'am? If so, don't feel alone. Just about everybody up here came here from somewhere else on short notice; some from Earth and some from the ship that came to Earth a while back. The Amarans are the only ones here who could be said to be used to living in a metal ball in space. The other four hundred or so people here are Earthies, just like you and me, and yesterday they went through the same dangerous crap we did, in one form or other. If Ellen's what's bothering you..."
"What?! How could Ellen be bothering me?"
"As I was saying, if Ellen's what's bothering you, forget it. Our days ended a year ago. She's got Robert and a kid now."
"What the hell made you think that I had a problem with Ellen?"
"Never mind that. If I'm wrong, sue me. If I'm right, get over it and let's try to pick up where we left off. You know, a fun couple taking a ride in space. A lady on her way to a new job. All that."
Leslie just stood there glaring at me for a moment.
"You really think you've covered all the damned bases. You really think things are just that simple, don't you?"
"Yeah. I do. If I missed something, bring it up and let's deal with it. Now. Today. Keeping it bottled won't make it go away, but it will probably make me find you another filler job and get on with my own job."
Someone was staring hard at us. I felt it more than anything else, so I turned slightly in order to get a complete look around. As soon as the watcher at the table behind the shop window realized that I was looking back, he or she looked away.
The sensation faded immediately. I don't argue with such feelings and I don't try to explain them to people who don't experience them. I took Leslie's elbow and turned her where she stood, then headed us back toward the coffee shop.
"What..? Where are we going?"
"Back to the coffee shop. I want a look at someone, and it would look odd if I just left you standing in the middle of the corridor."
Our motion must have caught the watcher's eye. I was close enough to tell the watcher was a kid of about fifteen. He had a book open on the table, and after a glance in our direction, he appeared to go back to reading it.
A book? When just about everything ever written was in the pad library?
"See that kid? If you see him way too often in the next day or two, I want to know about it. He was paying entirely too much attention to us. Could be he belongs to one of the board members or something like that."
"I don't understand. So what if he was watching us? People watch each other all the time, Ed.” She patted her hair and asked, “Maybe he likes redheads?"
"Maybe. Whatever. Let me know if you see him often. Stephie? Who's the kid who was watching us? What's he reading?"
"Desmond Francis Weaver. He's reading 'The Prince and The Discourses' by..."
"By Niccolo Machiavelli. I know the book, as well as his others. Is one of Desmond's parents on or involved with the board?"
"No, Ed. His father works on the production line. His mother is in communications."
"Thanks. If he spends much time within a hundred feet of either of us, I'd like to know about it, Steph. If he appears to be engaged in surveillance, I'd like to know that, too."
"Okay."
As I looked through the window, the new angle allowed me to see a spoon that had been with the cup that I'd moved, so I fielded the spoon to rest next to the cup. The kid with the book rubbed his forehead and shook his head slightly. We turned to continue walking. After a few steps, the feeling came back. That kid seemed to be able to watch someone real hard.
Stephie said, “Desmond is again watching you, Ed."
"I know, Steph. But it may only be because we walked back and then left again."
Leslie said, “Huh. You want me to believe you know when someone's watching you? Come on, Ed."
"You don't have to believe it. Just go along with me for now. Stephie, for Leslie's benefit, also respond through our watches for the time being, okay?"
"Okay."
Leslie and I were about to enter the elevator. I pointed to the one a bit farther down the hall and said, “Let's use that one. I want to see something on the way."
Leslie shrugged and we started toward the other elevator. A jewelry display in one of the shops caught my eye and I steered Leslie toward the window.
"Why are we looking at jewelry, Ed?"
"I was thinking you might like that little necklace on the left, ma'am. Want to go in and try it on?"
She looked at me oddly, then at the necklace. Her head tilted slightly as she tried to read the tiny tag and couldn't.
"I can't read what it's made of. Okay. Sure, I'd like a closer look at it."
As soon as we were inside the doorway the feeling at the back of my neck stopped. Leslie seemed to like the necklace, so I bought it for her. After browsing the shop for a few moments, we went back outside. The feeling didn't resume immediately.
Chapter Twenty-six
"Where'd he go, Stephie? He's not where he can see us any more, is he?"
"No, Ed. He's across the corridor, in the music shop."
"Thanks."
I led us toward the elevator. We were over halfway there when the sensation of being watched began again.
"Steph, he just came out of the music shop, didn't he? He started staring at us again just now, right?"
"Yes, Ed. How did you know that?"
"Just did, Steph. Can't say how. Study up on Desmond. I'll have questions later. This is kind of neat. I always had to guess if I was right, before. Unless they shot at me, of course. That always pretty well verified matters."
Leslie said, “Yes, I suppose it would. Assuming you aren't just becoming a true paranoid, how did you know he was staring at us?"
"Same answer. Just did."
"So the necklace was just an excuse?"
"I also thought you'd like it, Leslie. I d
idn't have to buy anything in that shop, you know. We could have just looked and left."
She said nothing for a moment, then, “Well, thanks, then, as long as it wasn't only an excuse to see if that kid was watching us."
"Now who's paranoid?"
I switched my cup to my right hand so I could reach for her hand.
"Some things I'll do only because I like you, Leslie."
The sensation of surveillance faded for a moment and returned.
"Steph, did Desmond just pass behind something that blocked his view of us?"
"Yes, Ed. He walked behind a pillar. Your sensors are almost as good as mine."
"Thanks, ma'am, but I don't believe that for a minute. He has to be looking at me to make my sensors work."
"Does it work with everybody?"
"No, Steph. Apparently only with those who are really concentrating on me. Snipers and security types and like that, usually."
As the elevator doors closed, the feeling faded again.
Leslie asked, “Why do you think Desmond...? No, never mind. You already said you think he's some kind of spy for the board."
"Yeah. Or something. Stephie, in your opinion, could the old computer have been conned into specifically using a field to suffocate someone?"
"No, Ed. Someone may have managed to mislead it concerning which gas to use when flooding your room. That would involve hardware, programming, and storage records that may have been altered, but simply telling that computer to suffocate someone with a field would have failed."
As we left the elevator, I asked, “Could someone have—or make—a field manipulation device that you wouldn't know about?"
"Yes, but only if they didn't use it. As soon as they used it, I'd know about the energy expenditure. It would be a field signature that was not in my records."
"What about fields of a nature that you couldn't detect? Maybe using a different energy source? Something that wouldn't register as a field?"
"I can't think what that would be, Ed. The Amarans have been using this field technology exclusively. There is nothing in my records about other types that would serve the same purposes."
"Maybe someone found something that would do just as well, Steph. Supposing that someone had or had somehow made a personal field manipulator, they'd need a lot of practice with it, wouldn't you think?"
"Oh, definitely, Ed. Lots of practice, just to do even the simplest things."
The smartass was teasing me about my ice escapade.
"Oh, that was cute, Stephie. It must be all your practice, huh?"
"Could be, Ed."
Leslie asked, “What the hell are you two talking about?"
"Stephie's working on her sense of humor, Leslie."
"Well, I didn't get the joke, Ed. One or both of you may need more practice."
I laughed and agreed, “Oh, for sure. Lots more practice. Both of us."
Leslie gave me an exasperated look. “Now what's funny? I still don't get it, Ed."
"It would be hard to explain, Leslie. Let's see about lunch, instead."
I used my watch to call Ellen and asked her if she and Robert wanted to meet on one of the decks for a fancy lunch.
"Fancy? What does 'fancy' mean to you, Ed? The same as always?"
"Yup. That's why I let the womenfolk pick the restaurants, ma'am. They seem to get tired of canned soup and they tend to know what else is edible."
"Right on both counts. I'll call Robert and ask if he's free. Back in a minute."
Leslie and I took a moment to freshen up in our rooms. Mine was a clone of 1134, and I suspected that all the rooms were about the same. When I'd finished, I went next door to Leslie's room. Ellen called back sounding rather tense.
"Robert can't make it, but I can, Ed. We need to talk about something."
"I've been getting a lot of that, lately. Let me guess: Robert is one of the department heads?"
"Yes."
"Ellen, that puts him on my list of this week's contacts, so he may as well come with you. We'll be talking soon anyway."
"I'll tell him. Back in a minute."
"Tell him it isn't really a request, Ellen. That will cover him if he's concerned about what someone else thinks."
After a second of silence, Ellen said, “I'll tell him that."
Leslie had a rather narrow gaze. “What if he just didn't want to come?"
"Tough. I need to meet with him anyway. We have a station to run."
Her gaze narrowed further.
"Gee. Do I know you from somewhere, mister? You look vaguely familiar."
Ellen called back to say they'd both be at one of the restaurants shortly. Leslie and I headed that direction ourselves. Not far from the apartment door, I felt the sensation of being watched again.
"Stephie, where's Desmond?"
"He's a hundred feet behind you, in a doorway."
"Uh, huh. Okay. When we turn this corner, I'm going to option three in the elevator. I want a word with him. Leslie, you keep walking to the restaurant."
I turned on the invisibility option in the elevator, then stepped out and stood to one side of it. Desmond soon appeared. Trying to look inconspicuous, he entered the elevator, pretended to change his mind, then walked out past me, apparently puzzled that Leslie was walking alone.
I whispered, “option three off,” and returned to visibility. Desmond suddenly looked as if something was bothering him, rubbing his temples and shaking his head slightly as if to clear it. Then he noticed me and almost jumped out of his skin.
He wore jeans, sneakers, and a black t-shirt promoting a rock music group. He was almost six feet tall, but if he'd weighed over one-twenty-five, I'd have been surprised. His brown hair was shaved in a small pattern on the right side of his head; something that seemed to be a current style among members of a specific herd of ‘individualists'. The pattern meant nothing to me, but then, I was one of the 'grups', so I wasn't supposed to get it, anyway.
"Hi, there, Desmond."
He didn't quite stammer his surprise. “What? How..?"
"Never mind that. Just tell me why I shouldn't have the station cops pick you up."
He grinned slightly and asked, “Maybe because I haven't done anything?"
Leslie had returned to see what I'd caught in my ambush.
"This is Desmond,” I said.
She looked at Desmond as if he might possibly be contagious and nodded.
Desmond stiffened slightly, then he said, “Not very friendly, is she?"
"You've been following us. Maybe that's why."
"Following you? Why would I..?"
"Can it, Des. You've been recorded doing it. We're going to talk about that. Maybe what you tell me will convince me not to call the station cops. Maybe not."
"The cops won't do anything. I'm only sixteen."
Okay, so I was a year off.
I pushed him up against the wall and held him there.
"The cops aren't your biggest worry, Des. Tell us why you were following us."
"I don't have to tell you anything. Let go of me."
"Tell me or tell the cops."
He looked pointedly at my left hand, which was pinning him to the wall, and said, “This is assault, man. I'm a minor. Cops don't like that kind of thing."
I looked both ways, then sank a fist into his skinny gut. His eyes bulged as his breath left him and he'd have gone to his knees if I hadn't been bracing him against the wall. Leslie gasped and grabbed my arm. I ignored her.
"That was assault, Desmond. Now that you know the difference, don't even think of trying that 'child abuse' horseshit, ‘cause it'll hurt you more than it hurts me. One more time; why were you following us?"
He opened his mouth to say something. I raised a hand to stop him and he flinched mightily. So did Leslie, in that her grip on my arm tightened considerably.
"Stephie, read him when he answers. I want to know if he's lying."
From my watch, Steph's disembodied voice said, “Okay, Ed."
> I nodded. “Same question, Desmond."
"Okay, man! Just don't hit me again. When you were standing in front of the coffee shop window, I got a splitting headache. When you walked away, it faded. When you came back, so did the headache. Then you left again and the headache went with you. I was just trying to find out what was causing it, man."
"Stephie?"
"He appears to be telling the truth, Ed, and he is experiencing moderate pain."
In an accusing tone, Leslie said, “That may be because you hit him, Ed."
I ignored her and let go of Desmond, then used my field to touch the wall about three feet from us. Desmond winced and raised a hand to his brow.
"Desmond,” I asked, “What do you think is causing these headaches?"
"I don't know. Something about you, that's for sure."
"Okay, it was unusual enough to make you follow us. Do you get these headaches any other times?"
"In school, sometimes. It's always in 4th period. History class, never any of the others. My dad thought they were migraines. The docs thought they were my imagination or some kind of bid for attention. Sometimes when I go to see Phil, I get them in the corridor near her apartment."
"Phil's a girl? Phyllis?"
"Yeah. My girlfriend. Sort of. We're friends, anyway."
"Stephie, drop a barrier field between Desmond and me."
"What kind of field, Ed?"
"Anything transparent, Steph. I just want to see if he stops hurting. Desmond, tell me if your headache fades."
"The field is in place, Ed."
I used my own field to touch the wall again a few times. Desmond showed no signs of distress. After a few seconds, he said, “It's almost gone now. Whatever she put between us worked."
"Uh, huh. Desmond, you seem to be sensitive to portable field devices. It could just be a matter of needing a bit more shielding, which would cure your random headaches, so tell Steph whatever she wants to know. Steph, question him about every time he's ever had one of these headaches, on or off this station. I want to know when, where, who was in the area at the time, and anything else that seems relevant before I order a retroactive design change to one of the most common warehouse tools. Leslie and I are leaving him in your hands, ma'am. We have a lunch date."
Desmond looked confused. “You're just leaving? You aren't even going to apologize for hitting me?"
Book 2: 3rd World Products, Inc. Page 27
