"I want you to make a phone call for me."
"Yeah, sure." Shock looked bewildered. Then Ron explained.
They reached the guard in the East Wing of the Medical Center without
much difficulty. Shock crouched over the receiver and said:
"This is Dr. Luther. Something's happened; you better connect me with
_him_."
"Okay, hold on."
There was a wait. Then Ron Carver's own voice, in its eerie new
inflection, was on the other end.
"What is it?"
"This is Luther. Something's happened down here. I think the boy got
away."
"What? Where are you?"
"In the morgue, downstairs. I think you better come down yourself."
"How could it happen?" The Ron-voice was raging. "How?"
"I don't know. But you better meet me here in ten minutes--"
Ron jabbed Shock in the side, and the tall boy slammed the receiver
back into place with a relieved sigh.
"I don't get it," he said. "Who was that guy?"
"Me," Ron said, with a grim smile. He handed Shock the money, and
watched him depart, still looking baffled. Then he went to the locker
and removed the gun, stuffing it inside his jacket. It bulked large
against his narrow chest.
He raced through the streets back to the medical center, heading for
Exit N and the morgue.
* * * * *
Ron was waiting, gun poised, behind the empty slab. A shadow covered
the dim light behind the glass-plated door, and the Ron-body entered
the silent room.
He saw his own hand reaching out to flick on the light switch. He saw
his own face register dismay and annoyance at the quiet scene.
Then the Ron-body turned and was about to leave.
"Stay awhile," Ron said.
He stood up, revealing the weapon, holding it in both of his small
hands for firm control of the trigger.
"Well," his voice said.
"Yes, well," Ron answered. "Very well, thanks. Only I won't speak for
you, Scholar. Because I don't think you're well at all. I think you're
out of your mind...."
The Ron-lips curled.
"Naturally. Genius is akin to madness. It's one of the deep-rooted
convictions of the human ego. It reflects their suspicion, their
distrust of the superintelligent ... I understand you, Mr. Carver."
"And I don't understand you! You're something new to me. Maybe you're
better than us, maybe you're worse. I don't know, Scholar. But that's
not why I'm going to kill you--"
"Oh?"
"No! You think I want to kill you for the sake of the world? Because
you're a menace to homo sapiens? Because of your contempt for us
ordinary mortals? Hell, no, Scholar! I'm too ordinary myself. I'm
killing you for _me_, for Ron Carver! Because I'm sore! Just plain
sore!"
He raised the gun.
For a moment, Ron didn't know what had happened. Something else blurred
his vision, a fast-moving figure bulking up in front of his target. It
was only when he heard the voice that he recognized the intruder as Dr.
Minton, and he saw then that the doctor had rescued the Scholar from
certain death.
"Stop, Ron--"
"Doctor! Get out of the way!"
"No, Ron. You don't know what you're doing--"
The old man was shielding the Ron-body with his own. Ron put the weapon
down.
"But why?" he said.
"Because this is no answer! This is the assassin's way--" He turned to
the Ron-body, and his voice was shaking. "Listen, Scholar. I want to
arbitrate. Will you listen?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Yes!" the doctor said fiercely. "Life or death! Will you listen to my
terms?"