Someone inside was calling for help!
If I had been a hardened conspirator, I would never have stopped to
investigate. But, of course, I wasn't. I pushed the door aside, against
resistance, and peered in.
And that was my third major shock in the past quarter of an hour,
because, writhing feebly just inside the door, staring up at me with an
expression of pain and anger, was Luigi Zorchi.
He propped himself up on his hands, the rags of his plastic cocoon
dangling from his shoulders.
"Oho," he said faintly. "The apprentice assassin again."
I found water for him at a bubble-fountain by the ramp; he drank at
least a quart before I made him stop. Then he lay back, panting,
staring at me. Except for the shreds of plastic and the bandages around
the stumps of his legs, he was nude, like all the other suspendees
inside their sacks. The luxuriant hair had already begun to grow back.
* * * * *
He licked his lips. More vigorous now, he snarled: "The plan fails,
does it not? You think you have Zorchi out of the way, but he will not
stay there."
I said, "Zorchi, I'm sorry about all this I--I know more now than I did
yesterday."
He gaped. "Yesterday? Only _yesterday_?" He shook his head. "I would
have thought a month, at the least. I have been crawling, assassin.
Crawling for days, I thought." He tried to shrug--not easy, because he
was leaning on his elbows. "Very well, Weels. You may take me back to
finish the job now. Sticking me with a needle and putting me on ice
will not work. Perhaps you should kill me outright."
"Listen, Zorchi, I _said_ I was sorry. Let's let it go at that for a
moment. I--I admit you shouldn't be here. The question is, how do you
come to be awake?"
"How not? I am Zorchi, Weels. Cut me and I heal; poison me and I cure
myself." He spat furiously. "Starve me, however, and I no doubt will
die, and it is true that you have come very near to starving me down
here." He glowered at the shelves of cocooned bodies in the locked bay.
"A pity, with all this pork and beef on the rack, waiting for me, but I
find I am not a monster, Weels. It is a weakness; I do not suppose it
would stop any Company man for a moment."
"Look, Zorchi," I begged, "take my word for it--I want to help you. You
might as well believe me, you know. You can't be any worse off than you
are."
He stared at me sullenly for a moment. Then, "True enough," he
admitted. "What then, Weels?"