by Jeff Sutton
Faust placed him under a light hypnosis, studying him with curiosity before inducing a deep trance. Next he tested him with several questions.
Assured that Clement was under hypnotic control, he asked, "How did you know the storm was coming?"
"I saw it," answered Clement.
"Saw it?" Faust attempted to stem his excitement.
"Saw the wind whipping the canvas," he explained.
"How is that possible?"
"I...can see things."
"In the future?"
Clement shuddered as if fighting an inner battle.
"Sleep, sleep," Faust urged soothingly. "Relax and sleep, Clement. You are very tired."
"Tired." Clement sighed.
"I am your friend, Clement."
"My friend." The maintenance man nodded sluggishly.
"You can confide in me, Clement."
"Yes..."
"Tell me, can you really see the future?"
"Yes." As Clement spoke, his agitation started to rise anew. Faust spoke pacifying words, at the same time trying to stem his inner excitement. Until he'd met Jasper Gollard, he'd considered the fantastic powers attributed to
Holton Lee and his followers as myths; but no longer. Now, staring into Clement's face, he had scant doubt that even the wildest of the stories were true.
Could Clement have come to Doorn to search out the man who had the power? He was almost afraid to hope. But if it were true, Clement was the carrier of the memory stone.
Faust's hands shook uncontrollably. Immortality! Perhaps it lay as close as Clement's pocket! He fought to control his torrent of emotion. He had to proceed cautiously. When he had Clement Page 49
quieted, he asked casually, "Do you
have the memory stone?"
"Yes!" Clement expelled the word violently. His features twisted into a look of intense agitation.
The cords of his neck jutted out like ropes. His strong hands curving into claws, he leaped suddenly from his chair.
Faust scrambled to his feet and shrank fearfully back. Clement looked like a man in the throes of some terrible agony, yet there was danger in the dark and contorted face. His blue eyes rolled wildly. Clement took a step forward, and another, then whirled and rushed from the trailer.
Faust leaped to the door, watching him hurry toward his quarters.
Clement had the stone! The knowledge tore at his mind. The key to immortality doubtless lay in Clement's pocket! After years of plans and hopes and dreams, after hurtling between stars, after all the long months since, the stone was within reach. If he played it might, it was as good as his.
He clenched his jaws, filled with cold resolve.
Nothing mattered but that he got the stone. That was the first step.
Then he'd locate the person who had the power, make him talk, find Holton Lee
-- become immortal! He had lied, cheated, stolen for just such an opportunity as this. If necessary, he would have Clement killed. And he had the killer --
Gurdon, The Tattooed Man.
He pondered murder. It had been with great foresight that he'd hired Gurdon, for he'd known that if he had to murder to get the stone, he'd need a murderer.
Gurdon filled the bill admirably. Deep hypnosis revealed him to be as trustworthy as he was bloodthirsty. Well, Gurdon could have the blood; he'd take the stone.
But wait! If he had Clement killed, he wouldn't know for whom the stone had been intended.
That he had to know, for only that person could make the stone respond. He could have The Strangler break Clement's bones one by one, make him talk. Only Clement wouldn't talk; he knew that with certainty.
Caution! The word stabbed at his mind. He was rushing too fast, becoming too reckless. He had sacrificed too many years to throw away everything now.
Remembering how Clement had broken the bonds of his deep trance, he shuddered.
No normal man could have accomplished that, let alone the breaking of a trance compounded with a mind-dulling drug. But Clement was no normal man.
Clement foresaw the future!
Faust straightened, caught with a sudden fright that made him feel ill.
No matter what he planned, Clement must already know! Or did he? If he could see into the future, why had he consented to stop by for a drink?
He contemplated the question uneasily. If Clement foresaw the future, could he change that future? Or was he foreseeing the inevitable? If the latter, then he already knew the answers that Faust so desperately was seeking. He would know the name of the person who was to awaken Holton Lee --
know where that person was.
Clement had that knowledge!
Shaken, Faust turned back into the trailer and poured a double shot of creel. "To immortality!"
Raising the glass in a toast, he quickly tilted it to his lips.
The next morning Clement was missing!
Faust became frantic at the news. Questioning revealed that Barracuda and The Human Pincushion had seen the maintenance foreman leaving the carnival grounds shortly before midnight; no one had seen him since.
Faust ordered an immediate search of the entire compound. When that failed, he extended the search outward into the streets and public buildings of New Trenton; not a single clue was Page 50
forthcoming. Clement had vanished completely, leaving his young daughter behind. Desperate, Faust wasted no time. Drawing The Tattooed Man into the privacy of his trailer, he told him about the stone, describing it merely as a family keepsake of great value. "I want it back," he finished harshly.
When The Tattooed Man had withdrawn, Faust leaned back and closed his eyes, fighting the onset of despair. The stone had been so close, so close.
Would he ever have such a chance again? The thought that he might not made him groan with anguish. But one thing he did know: Immortality wasn't easy to come by.
On a midnight a week later Gurdon returned.
"I have Clement," he said.
"Where?" Faust felt a sudden elation.
"Over in the field." Gurdon gestured with his head. "He's dead."
"You killed him?" Faust demanded frantically. Staggered, he felt the cold impending touch of final defeat. "I didn't want him murdered," he shouted hoarsely.
"You didn't say." Gurdon's dark eyes remained impassive.
Clement was dead! Faust felt weak and drained. He should have known better than to send a killer to bring the man back. His head jerked up. "Where is the stone?"
"He didn't have it."
Faust's face turned ashen. "Did you search him thoroughly?"
"To the buff."
"Could he have passed it to anyone?"
The Tattooed Man shrugged without answering.
Faust collapsed into a chair. "Get rid of the body," he instructed dully.
Later, standing in the doorway of his trailer, Faust gazed upward into the starry firmament. Had immortality passed him by? He groaned despairingly.
But the stone existed; he knew that. It was somewhere on the planet Doorn. But where? After a while he turned back to pour another drink. Fate was a mocker of man -- he'd heard that long ago. And it was true.
He was mocked by fate.
During the long months that had passed since Clement's death at the hands of The Tattooed Man, Gerald Faust lived with the memory of the stone. If it was lost, it was lost only to him; that knowledge was galling.
Someone had it! Somehow, in some way, Clement had managed to pass the stone into other hands before his death. The Tattooed Man? Having taken the precaution of questioning Gurdon under hypnosis, he'd discounted the possibility. But if not Gurdon, who?
No matter. If he'd found the possessor of the stone once, he'd find the person who had it now; that determination had sustained him through the long days and nights. He had dwelt constantly on it as the carnival wound through rolling hills and across plains, going from one small town to another.
Now, listening to the howl of the wind as it ballooned and buffeted t
he big tent, Faust fancied that his search was drawing to an end. Once he had found a man who could foresee the future, and had all but gotten the stone.
Now Clement was dead. Clement, who had foretold storms, who had foreseen tomorrow.
In his place had come a boy who could predict rain from a cloudless sky, who made friends with savage lions. Coincidence? Faust didn't believe so. Not when The Tattooed Man had killed Clement in the Ullan Hills, and when that boy had come from those same hills. Going to the door of the trailer, he peered out.
He had the feeling that the stone was very close.
8
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JEDRO AWOKE ABRUPTLY, conscious of the rain thundering against the wagon. A feeling of uneasiness gripped him. What had awakened him? He didn't know, yet the feeling persisted, a prickling sensation that came from somewhere deep inside him.
He sat up, shivering in the cold, damp air. Remembering his fright when Faust and The Tattooed Man had caught him trying to calm the lions, he wondered if his uneasiness had to do with that, and decided not. The sensation held an undecipherable familiarity. Looking out through the end of the wagon into the darkness, he tried to analyze just what he did feel. It wasn't fear exactly, nor was it worry. Rather it was an ominous foreboding --
that and a strange sense of...presence. That was it; he had the sense of someone near, someone watching him! The realization came as a shock.
He sank back, listening to the rain drum down. It came as a deep, subdued roar that filled the wagon with muted thunder. There was always someone close by, sleeping in wagons or in booths. That awareness was always with him; but this was different. This someone was intent on him. His scalp tingled with apprehension.
Hurriedly dressing, he peered cautiously out from the back of the wagon.
The surrounding tents, booths, other wagons -- dark silhouettes that appeared afloat in a gray mist -- revealed nothing. Here and there a night light, throwing down its yellow cone, painted an indescribable loneliness. But dawn was in the offing; he saw it as a faint paling of the clouds low in the east.
Studying the surrounding area more closely, he failed to detect any movement or sign of life, yet knew his uneasiness hadn't been founded in imagination. The feeling had been too strong, too persistent to be denied. And it definitely was a feeling of...someone. Now that he had identified the feeling, he felt more apprehensive than before. Why would someone be watching him?
The memory stone! Alarmed, he fumbled under the tarp he used for a pillow, relieved when his fingers encountered its familiar shape. Cradling the stone in his palm, he studied it. At first formless in the night, it began to smolder with a soft yellowish light that gradually turned to reds and deep purples. Occasional small spears of violet flame leaped outward from its depths. A growing warmth sent tingling sensations up his arm. The Tattooed Man had killed Mr. Clement in an attempt to get the stone; he couldn't forget that.
Hastily jamming it into his pocket, he peered outside again. The sense of presence persisted.
Stronger, too, was the ominous sense of some indefinable threat. Someone was out there! He knew that with finality. What could he do? Nothing except watch.
He draped a tarp around his shoulders and climbed down from the wagon, his feet sinking into the soft mud. With an arm raised to shield his face against the driving rain, he slogged his way toward the corrals. The lights came on in the mess tent. He stifled the impulse to go in and stand by the stove.
Abruptly he realized that the sense of presence had vanished. So had the prickling deep inside him. Breathing more easily, he determined that never again would he hide the stone in the wagon, but would keep it with him at all times. Yet he realized that could be equally risky.
Debating his predicament, he tried to find some sense in this latest occurrence.
Did anyone other than The Tattooed Man know of the stone? Did the carnival owner?
Considering the close relationship between the two, he believed it possible. Yet it hadn't been The Tattooed Man he'd sensed. Neither had it been Faust. He knew that while wondering how he knew it. It was part of the strangeness he felt at times.
Since getting the stone, he reflected. He'd always known about the coming storms, of course, and he'd always had a rapport with animals. Yet, since that morning when Mr. Clement had come striding down through the Ullan
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Hills to give him the stone, and die, strange things had inhabited his mind.
Like the fantastic dream of the old man who slept in an oblong box on a black world that tumbled under an alien sky; like seeing that dream live again in Granny's crystal ball. Like the sense of presence he'd felt on awakening, and knowing it hadn't been either the carnival owner or The Tattooed Man.
But if the latter feeling was right, the inescapable conclusion was that another person knew about the stone. Granny? He felt a distinct shock. He had never considered that. She knew about Mr.
Clement, of course, or at least knew the name. But did she know about the stone?
She could know, even if she hadn't let on, he thought. That seemed quite plausible. Perhaps that was why she'd warned him never to mention Mr.
Clement's name. "It's dangerous" she'd been quite explicit about that. Yet how could it be dangerous to him unless...
Granny knew he had the stone!
The conviction flooded his mind. She was a partial telepath; she'd admitted that. Could she have gotten the whole story from his mind? He contemplated the possibility uneasily. Certainly she wouldn't have warned him of danger without good reason, and what possible reason could there be except for his possession of the stone?
Granny knows! He viewed the implication more calmly, wondering why the reasoning hadn't occurred to him sooner. Yet, until he'd awakened so abruptly, there'd been no indication that a second person knew of the stone. Second person? It certainly hadn't been Granny he'd sensed on awakening! There was someone else -- a third person!
He felt a quick dismay. The realization that Granny might know hadn't perturbed him; she wasn't a bit like Faust or The Tattooed Man. But to have someone else know...
He had the feeling that everything was moving too fast, that events were beginning to race beyond his control. It was the feeling of a huge net being drawn around him, without his knowing the reason. Except that he had the stone!
What power had the stone?
He'd pondered the question many times. It glowed in beautiful shades and sent tingling sensations shooting up his arm; when he held it long enough, its warmth pervaded his whole body. But that about summed his knowledge of it. Why had Mr. Clement called it a "memory stone"? That was most baffling of all.
"You have the power" -- the gaunt man's words came back to him. But he also had said, "It lies latent within you." That implied something quite different from the power residing in the stone.
What had he meant? Mr. Clement had promised that some day he'd know; he'd have to be satisfied with that.
The horses and relks, their backs turned against the main, were standing dispiritedly in a sea of mud when he clambered between the wagons that had been used to reinforce the fence. A few lights were coming on around him.
Corky peered out from an adjacent wagon and called, "No show today, Jed." In the breaking dawn, his lugubrious expression gave him the appearance of being ready to cry.
Jedro acknowledged with a wave, turning his attention to the animals. A relk whinnied and moved toward him, followed by the others. Their large dark eyes were doleful. He moved along the fence, patting each one and speaking reassuringly before bringing their feed.
The chores finished, he stared indecisively at the big tent. The rain drummed against it with a dull roar. Rushing down through the tamp valleys formed by the supporting poles, the water cascaded over the edge in dozens of places.
The realization that Taber and Rana would be nervous bothered him. They would be expecting him, yet he didn't dare visit them. Not after last night.
Reluctantly
he turned back toward his wagon. Glancing toward it as he started Page 53
across the field, he was startled to see a bulky figure clamber out from the rear and drop heavily into the mud.
The Strangler! He stared incredulously at the performer, then shrank from sight behind a trailer.
Peering out, he saw The Strangler vanish from view around the end of the wagon. Suddenly Jedro understood the strange feeling that had gripped him earlier. When he did, he felt the beginning of panic.
The Strangler was after the stone!
A cold chill swept through him. The Strangler knew that he had it -- had been coming in the predawn to get it! The Strangler must have seen him peering out of the back of the wagon.
Perhaps only the performer's fear that he would make an outcry had saved him. If he hadn't awakened! His teeth chattered.
Despite his fear, he forced his steps toward the wagon. He stared inside with dismay. The sleeping pad Corky had given him had been slit open and its contents spread throughout the interior. The contents of a small box, in which he kept personal belongings, had been scattered randomly. His blankets and clothes lay in a jumbled pile, and the small amount of money he had hoarded from his wages was missing. Climbing inside, he viewed the mess numbly.
The Strangler knew!
Fear seeped through his mind. Having failed to find the stone, The Strangler almost certainly would know he had it with him. How had The Strangler learned of it? He considered the question worriedly. Had Barracuda or The Human Pincushion sent him? The two were The Strangler's constant companions. Perhaps all three were after the stone. Whatever value it had, that value must be great.
Jedro forced himself to calmness, trying to apply reason to the chaos in his mind. One thing appeared certain: The Strangler was far too stupid to understand a value that was potential, therefore he must be acting on orders from someone else. If it weren't Barracuda or The Human Pincushion, who could it be? The Tattooed Man? He shook the possibility impatiently aside. The Tattooed Man wasn't one to delegate a job of that kind. Remembering the cold, methodical manner in which he'd killed Mr. Clement, Jedro felt assured of that.
