Jadiver looked at the list and nodded.
"No need to open the bottle," she rushed on. "Just place in the autobath
dispenser and let the machine do the rest. The bottle will dissolve,
adding to the secret ingredients. Foams in micro-seconds as proven by
actual test, and when you're through, only an expert can tell your hair
from mink."
"Mink?" he repeated. "Don't think I'd like it. What about raccoon? I've
always admired the legendary Daniel Boone, alone in the terrestrial
wilderness with a single-shot rifle. Sure, make it raccoon."
"I know we have none of that." The clerk was positive.
"Then order it," he snapped. "You don't have to furnish the rifle,
though."
She seemed confused. "There is a ten per cent extra charge for
non-standard merchandise."
"All right. Just don't stand there arguing."
When the clerk left the screen to place the order, Jadiver hastily
selected what he wanted. He validated the purchases and snapped off the
screen. The merchandise arrived in a few minutes.
He loaded it into the autobath. This time the door opened and the
bas-relief figure didn't appear on it. Within a half hour he was ready
to leave.
* * * * *
The door was not a door. It was a mirror, three-dimensional. The
difference to the eye was slight, but since he knew what to expect, it
was not difficult to detect. It was a legitimate piece of staging, but
it cost plenty to maintain the illusion. A society event, he supposed,
called for such precautions. There must be more inside.
He ignored the mirror and pressed a blank section of the wall directly
opposite. The wall faded and a robot in an impressive black-and-white
livery stared at him with the proper insolence.
"Your invitation, sir."
"What?" he said tipsily.
"Your invitation, sir." The voice was louder and the insolence
increased. If he asked again, the robot would very likely shove him out
and close the door. Delicately adjusted and unhumanly strong, it was a
bit too invariable in the behavior department to be consistently
efficient.
His knowledge of robots was more than fair. In a few seconds he sized up
the model facing him. A thin slip fluttered from his hand to the floor.
The robot bent over to pick it up. At that instant Jadiver thrust a
long, thin, double-tined fork deep into the back of the robot's neck,
probing for the right place. He found it. Time became static for the
robot; it remained bent over and could not move.
Jadiver rifled the pockets, removed all the invitations, glanced at
them, found one that would do, and thrust the rest back. Shadows of
figures passed across the field behind the robot. Could they see what
Jadiver was doing? Probably not; privacy was too highly regarded.
Nevertheless, some people were coming down the corridor and _they_ could
see when and if they got close. Stepping back, he took away the
double-tined fork and the robot straightened up.
"You dropped something, sir," said the robot, handing him the slip from
the floor.
"It was nothing," said Jadiver, taking it. That was the best description
of what he had dropped. He extended the invitation he had just filched.
The robot grasped the invitation and seemed unable to focus. It tried to
examine the markings invisible to human eyes. It passed a trembling hand
across a troubled forehead.
"Didn't you come in half an hour ago?" it asked in bewilderment.
Someone had--the person to whom the invitation had been issued. The
robot, of course, had remembered.
"Nonsense," said Jadiver sharply. "Do you feel right? Are you sure of
your equilibrium?"
If it was sure, he had miscalculated badly. Robots were so much more or
less than humans. It should be possible to design a perfect robot, one
that would realize all the potentialities of a mechanical personality.
It had never been done; anthropomorphic conceptions had always
interfered.
"Must be mistaken," mumbled the robot, and swayed. It would collapse in
twenty minutes. The robot pressed a button and the field behind him
flickered off. Jadiver passed through it and the field fell back in
place.
* * * * *
Inside, he looked around. The usual swank, or maybe more so. Impressive,
if he cared to be impressed by it. At the moment he didn't. He had to
find Burlingame or Emily. He had created the faces of the other three as
well, but he had made them into handsome nonentities. Among so many
others who resembled them, he doubted that he could recognize them.
For an instant he thought he saw Emily and made his way through the
crowd. When he got there, he saw his mistake. This girl's flesh hadn't
been put on with a spray gun.
Burlingame was after jewels, of course, to be carefully selected from
two or three of the wealthier guests. He must also have currency in
mind, something negotiable for immediate use. He'd need cash to drop out
of sight for a while.
Time was growing short for a word with Burlingame, just one word,
whispered or spelled out silently: "Police." That was all Burlingame
would need.
Jadiver was weaponless, and aside from warning Burlingame, he couldn't
help. Until now he'd steered clear of violence and illegality. He'd
known the use to which his disguises had been put, but that was the
business of those who paid him.
Now it was different. The police had a line to him, direct. How much
they knew was impossible to estimate. He could visualize a technician
sitting in front of a screen, seeing everything that Jadiver saw. That,
however, was a guess, for he didn't actually know how the circuit
beneath his skin functioned. Until he learned, he would have to continue
guessing, and blunder accordingly.
He made his way to the balcony that encircled half the huge high room.
He didn't know the entire layout or the habits of those who lived here,
but it was reasonably certain that they kept a large amount of cash on
hand and that it would be safeguarded in a room not accessible to all
the guests. It might even be up here.
The few people on the balcony were at the far end. He looked down on the
milling guests. Still no sign of Burlingame or any of his crew. Jadiver
had done his work too well. They were indistinguishable from the others.
At that moment, the lights brightened glaringly. The guests looked less
glamorous. Women bulged excessively, top-heavy, and the tanned faces of
the men turned an unpleasant gray.
Magically, uniforms appeared at every exit.
"Attention," a harsh voice rang out. "Please line up. There are
criminals among you and we can identify them."
* * * * *
Jadiver didn't listen to the rest. His eyes were on the uniformed men.
Mercifully, they carried tangle guns. That much he was thankful for.
Burlingame and his crew would be taken alive. They might not like what
would happen later, but at least they would live.
The tangle gun was the most effective and least lethal weapon ever
conceived. It would bring down a butterfly at two hundred yards and hold
it there, without crumpling a wing or disturbing the dustlike scales. It
would do the same with a Venusian saurian or a Martian windbeast, either
of which outbulked an elephant and outsavaged a tiger.
It didn't have to hit the target. With proximity fuses--and it was
usually furnished that way--it was sufficient for the bullet to pass
near. Jadiver drew a deep breath. No one was going to get killed because
of him. Nevertheless, his skin crawled.
He gazed down at the guests lining up. They, too, knew what tangle guns
were.
Suddenly a man darted out of line and headed toward one of the exits. He
collided with an officer and the policeman went down. A tangle gun
snapped. The running man fell headlong. Three more times the tangle gun
fired at the man writhing on the floor--at his hands, at his face, and
again at his legs.
[Illustration]
The tangle gun propelled a plastic bullet, and that plastic was a
paradox. It was the stickiest substance known and would adhere to a
sphere of polished platinum, tearing away the solid metal if it were
forcibly removed without first being neutralized. It also extruded
itself into fine, wire-like strands on a moving object. The more
anything moved, the tighter it wrapped around. The victim was better off
to relax. He couldn't escape; no one ever had.
Jadiver watched the man threshing on the floor. One shot would have been
enough. Someone on the Venicity force liked to see men squirm.
As nearly as Jadiver could determine, the man on the floor was not
Burlingame. The leader hadn't been taken, but he didn't have long to
enjoy his freedom. The theory he had about teamwork was tarnished now--a
feint here and a block there--and they were all headed into the arms of
the Venicity police. It couldn't work against superior force, and an
ambush set unwittingly by Jadiver.
Then Jadiver saw them. They moved as a unit--Burlingame, Emily and two
others. They smashed through the guests with a formation that had the
flying wedge as a remote ancestor. Burlingame was leading it, tangle gun
in hand. The guests were thrown back and a policeman went down.
[Illustration]
It was hard to fire into the mob through which Burlingame and his crew
were bulling. In that respect, the tangle gun was not selective. It
seized on any motion.
They couldn't make it, but Jadiver hoped for them. They were at the edge
of the crowd. Between them and freedom was a thin cordon of police.
Beyond the police was a planted area where jungle vines and shrubs,
considerably taller than a man, grew dense. Just past that area were two
exits leading to the street.
From the balcony, Jadiver could see it clearly. If they could reach the
exits, they had a chance for flight.
They broke through the cordon. They shouldn't have, for superior trained
men were opposing them. But it was another kind of training that
Burlingame was using and with it he split the police. The group plunged
into the jungle shrubs and emerged on the other side. The police on the
floor couldn't see them, the planted area screened off the view. They
were almost safe.
The exits opened before they could reach them--more police. Burlingame
went down, a cloud around his face, weaving wire shapes that tightened
on his throat. The other two stumbled as police fired at their feet.
* * * * *
Emily alone was not hit. She was close and moving too fast. She escaped
the tangle guns, but ran directly into the arms of a burly officer. He
laughed and grabbed her as if she were a robot. She bit him.
He swore at her and swiftly looked around. The guests couldn't see. He
hit her solidly in the middle. She gasped for breath. He took out his
tangle gun and fired into her mouth.
Jadiver sicklily knew he had been wrong about the tangle gun; it could
kill if the person who used it had sufficient experience and brutality.
Emily would never have to lose that beautiful face and figure. She could
keep it until she died, which wouldn't be long. Nobody could stop the
peristaltic motion of the digestive system, voluntarily or otherwise, or
of the lungs in trying to breathe.
Burlingame wouldn't know. Policemen were cooperative, and it would be
listed as an accident.
Jadiver closed his eyes. Emily was dying and no one could help her. Or
himself, either, when they came to pick him up. They had to know exactly
where he was. He waited, expecting a tap on the shoulder or the snap of
the tangle gun.
The lights dimmed and the same harsh voice spoke. "The danger is over,
thanks to the efficient work of the Venicity police force. You are now
safe."
Nothing like advertising yourself, thought Jadiver.
No one came near him. Apparently the police didn't want him yet--they
expected him to do more for them.
He went down the stairs and mingled with the excited guests. It had been
a good show, unexpected entertainment, especially since it hadn't
involved any real danger for them. He circulated through the chattering
men and women until he came near the planted area. At an opportune
moment, he slipped in.
It was a miniature jungle; he was safe from ordinary detection as long
as he stayed there. He went quietly through the vines and shrubs toward
the other side. The broad back of a policemen loomed up in front of him.
Jadiver was an industrial engineer, a specialist in the design of robot
bodies and faces, robots that had to look like humans. He knew anatomy,
not in the way a doctor did, but it was nonetheless the knowledge of an
expert. He reached out and the policeman toppled.
He dragged the unconscious man deeper into the little jungle and
listened. No one had noticed. Physically a large man, the policeman
might be the one who had shot Emily--and then again he might not be. He
did have a tangle gun, which was the important thing. Jadiver took it
and rifled the man's pockets for ammunition.
He knelt for a final check on the body. The chest rose and fell with
slow regularity. For insurance, Jadiver again pressed the nerve. This
man wouldn't trouble anyone for a few hours.
Jadiver looked out. When he was sure he wasn't observed, he walked out
and joined the guests. He moved politely from one group to another and
in several minutes stood beside the door. He left the way he came.
It was that simple. He had to assume that until events proved he was
mistaken.
* * * * *
Outside, he walked briskly. It was not late and the city overflowed with
men and women walking, flying, skimming. Roughly dressed men down from
the north polar farms, explorers from the temperate jungles, government
girls--the jumbled swarm that comes to a planet in the intermediate
stages of exploitation. It was a background through which he could pass
unnoticed.
The circuit, though--always the circuit. He couldn't escape that by
walking away from it. But at least he'd proved that telepathy wasn't
possible by means of it, or he wouldn't still be free.
Other than that, he didn't know how it operated. If it was purely
electronic in nature, then it had a range. He might be able to get
beyond that range, if he knew how far it extended.
A lot depended on the power source. He hadn't been able to check
closely, hadn't really known what he was looking at when he'd seen it in
the autobath. He remembered that the circuit seemed to be laid over his
own nervous system. Considering the power available, the range was apt
to be quite limited.
That was pure supposition and might be wrong. There was nothing to
preclude an external power source, say a closed field blanketing the
city or even the entire planet. If so, it represented a technical
achievement beyond anything he was familiar with. That didn't disprove
it, of course. The circuit itself indicated a startling advance and he
knew _it_ existed.
There was still another possibility. The circuit might not be entirely
electronic. It might operate with the same forces that existed inside a
single nerve cell. If so, all bets were off; there was no way he could
determine the range. It might be anything at all, micro-inches or
light-years.
With unlimited equipment and all the time in the worlds, he could answer
some of those questions floating around in his mind. He had neither, but
there were solutions he could make use of. Limited solutions, but it was
better than waiting to be caught.
Jadiver headed toward one such solution.
The robot clerk looked up, smiling and patient, as he entered. It could
afford to be patient. There was no place it wanted to be other than
where it was at the moment. "Can I help you?"
"Passage to Earth," said Jadiver.
The clerk consulted the schedule. That was pretense. The schedule and
not much else had been built into its brain. "There's an orbit flight in
two weeks."
In two weeks, Jadiver could be taken, tried, and converted ten times
over. "Isn't there anything sooner?"
"There's an all-powered flight leaving tomorrow, but that's for Earth
citizens only."
"Suits me. Book me for it."
"Be glad to," said the robot. "Passport, please."
* * * * *
It was going to cost more than just the fare, Jadiver knew. He would
arrive on Earth with very little money and could expect to start all
over. He was no longer fresh out of training, willing to start at the
bottom. He was a mature man, experienced beyond the ordinary, and most
organizations he could work for would be suspicious of that.
But it was worth it, aside from the escape. No future for him there,
jammed in on a crowded world, but it was his planet, always would be,
and he wouldn't mind going back.
"Sorry," said the clerk, flipping over the passport and studying it. "I
can't book you. The flight's only for Earth citizens."
"I was born there," Jadiver impatiently said. "Can't you see?"
"You were?" asked the robot eagerly. "I was built there." It handed him
back the passport. "However, it doesn't matter where you were born.
You've been here three years without going back. Automatically, you
became a citizen of Venus two and a half years ago."
Jadiver hadn't known that. He doubted that many did. It was logical
enough. Earth was overflowing and the hidden citizenship clause was a
good way of getting rid of the more restless part of the population and
making sure they didn't come back.
"There's still the orbit flight," said the clerk, smiling and serene.
"For that you need a visitor's visa, which takes time. Shall I make the
arrangements?"
Aside from the time element, which was vital, he couldn't tip the police
off that he intended to leave.
"Thanks," he said, taking the passport. "I'll call back when I make up
my mind."
Down the street was another interplanetary flight office and he wandered
into it. It might have been the same office he had just left, robot and
all.
"Information on Mars," he said, his manner casual.
The clerk didn't bother to consult the schedule. There was a difference,
after all. "There'll be an orbit flight in four months," it said
pleasantly. "Rate, four-fifths of the standard fare to Earth."
Nothing was working out as expected. "What about the moons of Jupiter?"
This was the last chance.
"Due to the position of the planets, for the next few months there are
no direct flights anywhere beyond Mars. You have to go there and
transfer."