The inquisitor leaned forward, frowning at the girl before him.
"Name?"
"Evelyn Kane."
The eyes of the inquisitor widened. "So you admit to a Terran name.
Well, Terran, you are charged with having stolen passage on a supply
lorry, and you also seem to be wearing the uniform of an infantry
corporal as well as that of a Scythian woman auxiliary. Incidentally,
where is the corporal? Did you kill him?"
He was prepared for a last-ditch denial. He would cut it short, have
the guards remove her, and execution would follow immediately. In a
way, it was unfortunate. The woman was obviously of a high Terran
class. No--he couldn't consider that. His slender means couldn't afford
another woman in his quarters, and besides, he wouldn't feel safe with
this cool murderess.
"Do you not understand the master tongue? Why did you kill the
corporal?" He leaned impatiently over his desk.
The woman stared frankly back at him with her clear blue eyes. The
guards on either side of her dug their nails into her arms, as was
their custom with recalcitrant prisoners, but she took no notice.
She had analyzed the minds of the three men. She could handle the
inquisitor alone or the two guards alone, but not all three.
"If you aren't afraid of me, perhaps you'd be so kind as to send the
guards out for a few minutes," she said, placing a hand on her hip. "I
have interesting information."
So that was it. Buy her freedom by betraying fugitive Terrans. Well, he
could take the information and then kill her. He nodded curtly to the
guards, and they walked out of the hut, exchanging sly winks with one
another.
Evelyn Kane crossed her arms across her chest and felt her broken rib
gingerly. The inquisitor stared up at her in sadistic admiration. He
would certainly be on hand for the execution. His anticipation was cut
short with a horrible realization. Under the paralyzing force of a mind
greater than his own, he reached beneath the desk and switched off the
recorder.
"Who is the Occupational Commandant for this Sector," she asked
tersely. This must be done swiftly before the guards returned.
"Perat, Viscount of Tharn," replied the man mechanically.
"What is the extent of his jurisdiction?"
"From the center of the Terran globe, outward four hundred miles
radius."
"Good. Prepare for me the usual visa that a woman clerk needs for
passage to the offices of the Occupational Commandant."
The inquisitor filled in blanks in a stiff sheet of paper and stamped a
seal at its bottom.
"You will add in the portion reserved for 'comments', the following:
'Capable clerk. Others will follow as they are found available.'"
The man's pen scratched away obediently.
Evelyn Kane smiled gently at the impotent, inwardly raging inquisitor.
She took the paper, folded it, and placed it in a pocket in her blouse.
"Call the guards," she ordered.
He pressed the button on his desk, and the guards re-entered.
"This person is no longer a prisoner," said the inquisitor woodenly.
"She is to take the next transport to the Occupational Commandant of
Zone One."
When the transport had left, neither inquisitor nor guards had any
memory of the woman. However, in the due course of events, the
recording was gathered up with many others like it, boxed carefully,
and sent to the Office of the Occupational Commandant, Zone One, for
auditing.
* * * * *
Evelyn was extremely careful with her mental probe as she descended
from the transport. The Occupational Commandant would undoubtedly
be high-born and telepathic. He must not have occasion to suspect a
similar ability in a mere clerk.
Fighting had passed this way, too, and recently. Many of the buildings
were still smoking, and many of the radions high above were either
shot out or obscured by slowly drifting dust clouds. The acrid odor of
radiation-remover was everywhere.
She caught the sound of spasmodic small-arm fire.
"What is that?" she asked the transport attendant.
"The Commandant is shooting prisoners," he replied laconically.
"Oh."
"Where did you want to go?"
"To the personnel office."
"That way." He pointed to the largest building of the group--two
stories high, reasonably intact.
She walked off down the gravel path, which was stained here and there
with dark sticky red. She gave her visa to the guard at the door and
was admitted to an improvised waiting room, where another guard eyed
her stonily. The firing was much nearer. She recognized the obscene
coughs of a Faeg pistol and began to feel sick.
A woman in the green uniform of the Scythe auxiliary came in, whispered
something to the guard, and then told Evelyn to follow her.
In the anteroom a grey cat looked her over curiously, and Evelyn
frowned. She might have to get rid of the cat if she stayed here. Under
certain circumstances the animal could prove her deadliest enemy.
The next room held a foppish little man, evidently a supervisor of some
sort, who was studying her visa.
"I'm very happy to have you here, S'ria--ah--"--he looked at the visa
suspiciously--"S'ria Lyn. Do sit down. But, as I was just remarking to
S'ria Gerek, here"--he nodded to the other woman, who smiled back--"I
wish the field officers would make up their august minds as to whether
they want you or don't want you. Just why did they transfer you to
H.Q.?"
She thought quickly. This pompous little ass would have to be given
some answer that would keep him from checking with the inquisitor. It
would have to be something personal. She looked at the false black in
his eyebrows and sideburns, and the artificial way in which he had
combed hair over his bald spot. She crossed her knees slowly, ignoring
the narrowing eyes of S'ria Gerek, and smoothed the back of her braided
yellow hair. He was studying her covertly.
"The men in the fighting zones are uncouth, S'ria Gorph," she said
simply. "I was told that _you_, that is, I mean--"
"Yes?" he was the soul of graciousness. S'ria Gerek began to dictate
loudly into her mechanical transcriber.
Evelyn cleared her throat, averted her eyes, and with some effort,
managed a delicate flush. "I meant to say, I thought I would be happier
working for--working here. So I asked for a transfer."
S'ria Gorph beamed. "Splendid. But the occupation isn't over, yet,
you know. There'll be hard work here for several weeks yet, before we
cut loose from the enemy globe. But you do your work well"--winking
artfully--"and I'll see that--"
He stopped, and his face took on a hunted look of mingled fear and
anxiety. He appeared to listen.
Evelyn tensed her mind to receive and deceive a mental probe. She was
certain now that the Zone Commandant was high-born and telepathic. The
chances were only fifty-fifty that she could delude him for any length
of time if he became interested in her. He must be avoided if at all
possible. It should not be too difficult. He undoubtedly had a dozen
personal secretaries and/or concubines and would take small interest in
the lowly employees that amused Gorph.
Gorph looked at her uncertainly. "Perat, Viscount of the Tharn Suns,
sends you his compliments and wishes to see you on the balcony." He
pointed to a hallway. "All the way through there, across to the other
wing."
As she left, she heard all sound in the room stop. The transcribing and
calculating machines trailed off into a watchful silence, and she could
feel the eyes of the men and women on her back. She noticed then that
the Faeg had ceased firing.
* * * * *
Her heart was beating faster as she walked down the hall. She felt a
very strong probe flooding over her brain casually, palping with mild
interest the artificial memories she supplied: Escapades with officers
in the combat areas. Reprimands. Demotion and transfer. Her deception
of Gorph. Her anticipation of meeting a real Viscount and hoping he
would let her dance for him.
The questing probe withdrew as idly as it had come, and she breathed
a sigh of relief. She could not hope to deceive a suspicious telepath
for long. Perat was merely amused at her "lie" to his under-supervisor.
He had accepted her at her own face value, as supplied by her false
memories.
She opened the door to the balcony and saw a man leaning moodily on the
balustrade. He gave no immediate notice of her presence.
The five hundred and sixth heir of Tharn was of uncertain age, as were
most of the men of both globes. Only the left side of his face could be
seen. It was gaunt and leathery, and a deep thin scar lifted the corner
of his mouth into a satanic smile. A faint paunch was gathering at his
abdomen, as befitted a warrior turned to boring paper work. His closely
cut black hair and the two sparkling red-gemmed rings--apparently
identical--on his right hand seemed to denote a certain fastidiousness
and unconscious superiority. To Evelyn the jeweled fingers bespoke an
unnatural contrast to the past history of the man and were symptomatic
of a personality that could find stimulation only in strange and cruel
pleasures.
In alarm she suddenly realized that she had inadvertently let her
appraisal penetrate her uncovered conscious mind, and that this probe
was there awaiting it.
"You are right," he said coldly, still staring into the court below.
"Now that the long battle is over, there is little left to divert me."