Point Ultimate

by Jerry Sohl

  “What is the question?”

  “Are gypsies immune to the plague?”

  The eyes were surprised. “I have told fortunes for many years,” the woman said. “In all the years of my time I have not been asked such a question. Why must you know this?”

  “The money,” Emmett said, “was paid for an answer, not a question.”

  The gypsy shook her head and her earrings tinkled. “It is not so. We are no more immune than you are. Why do people say this thing of us? It is not so.”

  Emmett leaned forward. “Then you must go for your booster like everyone else?”

  “Of course. Can you tell me one person who does not? Who are you? Why do you ask this?”

  “And do you have an identification number on your left forearm?”

  “But of course.” She looked at him, puzzled. Then she moved a draped arm upward and exposed her left forearm. There on the skin mottled with age was plainly written the woman’s identification. She withdrew the arm, saying, “There are many legends about the gypsy. They are not true.” Her attempt at a smile showed teeth yellowed with her years. “Another question?”

  “No. I have no more questions.” Either the woman was lying or he’d been a fool for hoping gypsies were different from other people.

  When he arose to leave, Madame Le Gasta made no move to return any part of his money. Although he didn’t think the information she had given him was worth twenty dollars, he didn’t want to argue about it. The flap lifted and he walked out of the small tent. Now there were several people in the chairs waiting for Madame. He turned to go out.

  “This is not the way out,” a husky gypsy man said, stepping in front of him. “You came in this way. The exit is over there.” He pointed across the tent.

  For a moment Emmett felt like pushing the man roughly to one side and proceeding. Then he thought the better of it. He was in enough trouble already. He turned around and went across the tent.

  He lifted the flap there and stepped through.

  He was hit a violent blow on his head.

  On his back on the ground and barely on this side of consciousness, Emmett dazedly realized he was being robbed. His muscles would not respond to the message of urgency he sent them.

  “Goddam commie,” be beard a man say. “You'd think he'd have more sense. Imagine flashing a roll like this at Maggie!”

  The other man whistled. “She was right, all right. How much you think is there?”

  “I dunno. . . . Hey! What's this?”

  “Two guns! I’ll be damned!”

  “This guy’s no regular commie. Say—ain't I seen him somewhere before?”

  “Naw. If he’d been here before, you think he’d ever come back?”

  “Just the same, I think we’d better let Bruno see him.”

  Emmett managed to lift his eyelids. He saw two blurred figures before him. He struggled feebly to rise.

  “Well, what d’you know! He’s waking up!”

  “A regular rugged guy, ain’t he?”

  This time Emmett succumbed quickly to the invitation to sleep.

  “Filthy commie!”

  The light hurt his eyes at first, but he gradually got used to the fluoro in the ceiling. His head ached terribly. He moved a hand up to feel how badly injured it was. To his surprise he felt only a small bump.

  He moved his arms behind him and sat up.

  “Filthy commie!”

  He looked into the eyes of an old man sitting at the other end of the truck, an old man with a sleeper in his hand pointed at Emmett. The hand trembled. With a shock Emmett saw the man had only one good eye. The other was a sunken slit.

  “I’m no commie,” Emmett said.

  “Bruno will find out if you’re a commie or not.” The old face wrinkled into an evil grin. “And then you know what’s going to happen? I’m going to kill you.”

  “I tell you, I’m no commie.” Emmett brushed hair out of his eyes. How long had he lain asleep in the truck?

  “I ought to kill you right now. I could say you tried to get away.” He chuckled with the thought this evoked. “But I’d better wait for Bruno. Bruno will know what to do.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Grandpa,” Emmett said wearily. “All I can tell you is I’m no commie.”

  Grandpa spat at him, moved the sleeper up a little. “You killed my son and you killed his wife. And now you killed Arno. It’s going to be your turn now.”

  Suddenly the truck’s rear door was flung open and through it came one of the men Emmett had seen with Ivy in the woods. But he no longer wore the dark suit of the woods. Now he was clad in a flowing red cape, a black turban, tight-fitting trousers, and a red shirt.

  He started when he saw the second person.

  It was Ivy, her long black hair falling to one side of her head as she stepped into the truck.

  “Ivy!” He started to get up.

  “You stay where you are!” the younger man commanded.

  Emmett sank back and looked at Ivy in surprise. She stood still, saying nothing, her dark eyes sad. Seeing her, Emmett felt the strong pull of her again. But why didn’t she say anything?

  And then he saw her clothes. They didn’t make sense. There was a green cape tied around her shoulders, and she wore a sheer red blouse through which he could see the white of her bra, form-fitting black shorts, hip-high stockings and green high-heeled shoes.

  “Filthy commie!” the old man said again.

  “What’s he talking about?” Emmett asked. “He’s been calling me that ever since I woke up. You two know I’m no Communist. You found that out at the implement shed.”

  “We were fooled, Em,” Ivy said.

  “You were not fooled,” Emmett said firmly. “Where did you get the idea you were?”

  “Why did you come here?” the younger man asked. “Did you think you could find out something more?”

  “Will someone please tell me what you’re talking about? Ivy, listen to me. I came here looking for you. And now everybody’s calling me a Communist.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ivy said, “but it appears you are a Communist.” “I am not!”

  “Yes, he is, Bruno. Yes, he is!” the old man said excitedly. “I can tell a commie when I see one.”

  “Quiet, old man,” Bruno said. “Keyes, we had a brother, Ivy and I. We thought a lot of him. He was with us when we were in the woods. He was caught because of you. If he isn’t dead, he soon will be.”

  “He was my younger brother,” Ivy said. “A sweet-tempered boy who wouldn’t harm anybody.”

  “Where do you get the idea I had anything to do with it?” “Don’t act so injured, Keyes. Did you think you could bribe information out of an old woman with a twenty-dollar bill?”

  “Maggie’s smart,” the old man said, grinning. “Maggie’s as smart as they come.”

  “Hush, Grandpa,” Ivy said.

  “Grandpa’s right this time,” Bruno said. “Grandma Maggie did the right thing when she alerted the boys. She caught sight of Keyes’ money and knew only a commie or a high level collaborator would be carrying around that much. The boys did what they always do in a case like that—relieve the person of his extra funds. It helps the cause. But they didn’t count on you having so much, Keyes—or having those two guns. They knew right away you were a spy.”

  “You thought you were smart, didn’t you,” the old man said, leering at him. “But you didn’t count on Maggie or Bruno, did you?”

  “Just because I carried so much money and have a couple guns!” Emmett snorted. “I had a gun and a lot of money before.” “But you didn’t arrive in Cornwall,” Ivy said. “Remember?” “Of course he didn’t go to Cornwall. He went to his bosses

  and told them what we are doing. They in turn told the area director and he sent the security police after us. It was only luck that we managed to finish our mission first. Most of us managed to get away. All except Arno.”

  “They killed him?”

  Bruno shoo
k his head. “They captured him. It would have been better if they had killed him, considering what he’s going through. But he won’t talk. Not Arno.”

  “Let me kill him,” the old man pleaded. “Let me do the job.” He moved toward Emmett.

  “Not yet,” Bruno said firmly. “Dead, Mr. Keyes won’t be worth a thing.”

  “Must you kill him?” Ivy looked at her brother frantically.

  Bruno’s lip curled. “What do you suggest?”

  Ivy turned to Emmett, teeth biting the smooth line of her lower lip to keep it from trembling. Her eyes were moist. “I—I believed you, Emmett. I thought you’d be in Cornwall when we got back. I told Bruno it couldn’t possibly be you, telling on us that way. And then when you didn’t come--”

  “I can explain.”

  “Explain, Keyes?” Bruno laughed in his face. “Just the way you explained you were an anti-commie and had Ivy believing your every word?”

  “It was true!” Emmett cried. “What kind of a thing are you trying to pull here? Doesn’t a man have the right to say anything?”

  “Sure,” Bruno taunted, his eyes going to Emmett’s bandaged wrist. “The boys were curious about your wrist. They said it looked as if you took off your commie bracelet. Supposing you start with that.”

  “Damn right I’ll start with that. It wasn’t my bracelet in the first place.”

  “Whose was it then?”

  “It belonged to Mr. Gniessin, the area director.”

  “Mr. Gniessin?” Bruno laughed at him. “I can imagine Gniessin parting with his bracelet. Especially to you.”

  “It was not of his own free will,” Emmett said levelly. “I took it from him.”

  “The hell you did,” Bruno said with obvious disbelief.

  “Maybe he did,” Ivy said.

  “You can believe him if you want to, Ivy. But Gniessin’s own identity bracelet—well, I’ve heard of some pretty weird things. . .”

  “Gniessin was dead, you see.”

  Now they looked at him with genuine interest.

  “When I left you near the implement shed, Ivy, I started walking north. But I made a misstep and wound up a prisoner of Mr. Gniessin at his villa. That’s why I never came to Cornwall. When I touched the grounds of the villa I was sleeped. While I was unconscious a doctor there anesthetized part of my brain and I told nearly everything I knew. Later on Gniessin told me he had sent someone out to arrest your group. I never heard any more about it. But I never said anything voluntarily.”

  “He’s lying,” the old man said. “He’s a dirty commie and he’s lying his way out of it.”

  “We’ll hear him out, Grandpa,” Bruno said. “Then we’ll decide.”

  “Gniessin was fat,” Emmett said. “His health was not good. It became my job to give him his massages. Yesterday in the steam bath he died of a heart attack. That’s when I traded the bracelet he had ordered me to wear for the one he had on his wrist. That’s the way I managed to escape from the villa. I took a flier, but after I left Cornwall it suddenly veered off toward the villa, so I burned out the controls with the heater. It fell into a grove a few miles west of here. You can check on that part of it. I sleeped a few people at a farmhouse, cut out his bracelet, set it afloat on a river. I confiscated a car and headed for Reardon.”

  Bruno frowned. “If Gniessin is really dead. . . . My God, that would change things.” He stared at Emmett.

  “He’s lying,” Grandpa said.

  “I don’t think he is,” Ivy said slowly and wonderingly.

  For a moment they stood silent searching for the truth in each other. From outside came the sounds of the camp, the monotonous spiel of a barker, martial music from one of the shows, the hum of many voices. As they listened they suddenly heard another sound—the hiss of many fliers.

  There was an urgent knock on the door. Bruno and Ivy exchanged sharp glances, then she opened it. A pale-faced man with frightened eyes stood there. He looked over his shoulder. Then he stepped quickly into the van.

  “What’s the matter with you, Geronte?” Bruno asked. “You ought to be out on the midway.”

  Geronte pointed a finger at Emmett. “They’re looking for him,” he said excitedly.

  “Who’s looking for him?”

  “Security police and occupation men—they’re all over the place. And now the fliers!”

  “Control yourself, man! What’s going on?”

  Geronte gulped, his eyes wide. “I was standing at the snake tent, listening to Berne, when men started drifting over to the camp from the street. They mixed with the crowd, but they didn’t say anything to anybody or each other. You know how it is when you get a bunch like that.”

  “I told you so,” Grandpa said. “I told you, Bruno. He’s brought them with him. Now they’ll find out. . . !”

  “Shut up, Grandpa!”

  “They split up, Bruno. And not a single one of them listened to Berne. They just kept moving around, looking the faces over. Some even went into the tent. And now there’s the fliers!”

  “Get hold of yourself!”

  “The sky’s full of them fliers, Bruno. And they got searchlights! This is the end!”

  “We’ve got to kill him,” the old man cried. “We’ve got to get rid of him before they get us!”

  “We’ve got to do no such thing,” Bruno said firmly.

  “But they’re after him and they’ll find him here,” Geronte wailed. “And he’ll tell them everything.”

  “Grandpa,” Bruno said in sudden decision, “you and Geronte get out on the midway. Try to steer them someplace else, try to get them off the track. Anything, but keep them occupied. And I don’t mean fighting. That’s the last thing I want.”

  “All right,” the old man said sulkily, “but I say kill him right now. That way we’ll be one jump ahead of them.”

  Geronte and the grumbling old man left the truck and the door slammed shut after them.

  “They’re after me, all right,” Emmett said. “Whoever took over things at the villa is good and mad. They want my hide, the Enemies do. And they want to ask questions about Gniessin and the money and weapons I took, the robot I put out of commission, the doctor I helped escape and the cook I locked up in his room.”

  “I wish Johannes were here,” Ivy said.

  “Well, he isn’t,” Bruno said. “But he’d know about Gniessin. If he doesn’t, he ought to.”

  “Are we going to stand here and talk about it?” Emmett asked irritably. “Or are we going to do something about it? If it’s all the same to you, I don’t want to go back to the villa.”

  “What can we do?” Bruno said thoughtfully. “They’re bound to search the truck sooner or later.”

  “Those two guns I had would help,” Emmett said. “That way you’d find out for sure which side I’m on.”

  Bruno shook his head. “That would be suicide. If there are fliers with lights up in the sky, two little guns aren’t going to help. Once things start happening, they’ll sleep this whole area and then move in and separate the good from the bad. No, there must be another way.”

  “I hope there is,” Emmett said impatiently. “I have a feeling time is running out.”

  “I think I have the answer,” Ivy said calmly.

  CHAPTER - 17

  “We can hide him in the illusion box,” Ivy said.

  Bruno gave Emmett a critical look. “He’s too big.”

  “He isn’t either. The box is too big for me, but he can squeeze a little can’t he?”

  “Well, maybe so. We can try, anyway.”

  “Come on,” Ivy said, grabbing Emmett’s arm.

  Emmett offered no objection, did not delay them with questions. Anything was better than standing weaponless in a truck, waiting for the security police to arrive. In the darkness outside the van they picked their way across the weed-choked lot to the rear of one of the show tents. Once Emmett glanced upward. He saw the glimmering lights of several circling fliers. Then they ducked under a flap and were in t
he tent.

  Folding chairs were set theater-fashion in the center area facing a raised platform stage at one end.

  “This is our show, Bruno’s and mine,” Ivy said softly, leading the way down the center aisle and running up the three steps to the stage, slapping aside the curtain there. “Bruno is Uneldo, the Magician, in case you haven’t caught on yet. I’m Lura, his assistant. It used to be father’s and mother’s show and this stuff is mostly theirs.”

  The stage was a clutter of brightly painted boxes, tables, drapes, cloths, gleaming metal containers. A bird chattered in a red cage, an enormous die blocked their way until Ivy pushed it to one side with the toe of her shoe. Bruno lifted aside a small table filled with playing cards, an old opera hat, wands, flowers, glasses, scissors, and a coil of rope. He reached down and, with Ivys help, slid out a long, black box, moved it downstage to within a foot of the curtain, and arranged it carefully there.

  Bruno lifted the lid and said, “Think you can get in there, Keyes?”

  Emmett looked inside. The black interior made it difficult to judge how big it was. He guessed he’d have room enough with a little pushing and squeezing here and there.

  “We promise not to saw you in two,” Ivy said. “You’d better see if you fit.”

  “I’d feel a lot safer out here with a couple guns,” Emmett said. “Don’t you think they’ll lift the lid and find me here?”

  “They may lift the lid,” Bruno said, “but you won’t be there. Now get in.”

  Emmett shrugged, stepped into the box. He hesitated, still not sure this was the wisest thing to do.

  “Will you please get down so I can close the lid?” Ivy said. “They’ll probably come charging in here any minute.”

  He was too long to lie on his back, so he turned on his side, drew his knees up a little. Now he looked up at them, feeling an agony of helplessness.

  “You all set?” Ivy said, leaning over, worry lines in her forehead.

  “I guess so,” he said miserably.

  Then she smiled. “You have no idea how silly you look down there, Em.”

  “Close it up,” Bruno said severely, frowning and working furiously at something at the side of the box.

  Ivy leaned farther, planted a kiss on his lips. Then she drew back, saying, “Good-bye now.”