as he came to the strip of jungle, he turned his eyes upon the empty
parklike arcades between the trees. The last edible garbage had long
since been consumed and the greater and lesser beasts had departed for
the cooler depths of the forest, but Albert was conscious of life. It
was all around him, in the trees with the ringed layers of their trunks
and the sap flowing slowly upward through the cambium layer beneath
their scaly bark, in the insects feeding upon the nectar of the aerial
vine blossoms, in the rapid photosynthetic reactions of the leaves.
His gaze, turning aloft, was conscious of the birds and the tiny
arboreal mammals. He saw the whole forest with eyes filled with wonder
at its life and beauty. It was the only right way to see.
At the proper distance from Lagash, he plunged off boldly across country
and entered the main area of the forest, reflecting wryly as he did so
that he was probably the first human in the short history of Antarian
exploration who had gone into one of the great forests with absolute
knowledge that he would come out of it alive. And, as so often happens
to men who have no fear, trouble avoided him.
He followed the directions he had obtained from Shifaz and found the
plantation without trouble. He could hardly miss it, because its size
was far from accurately expressed in the native's memory. Skillfully
concealed beneath an overhanging network of aerial vines whose
camouflage made it invisible from the air, concealing the tobacco plants
from casual detector search, the plantation extended in row upon narrow
row, the irregular strips of fields separated by rows of trees from
which the camouflage was hung. A fragile electric fence encircled the
area, a seemingly weak defense, but one through which even the greatest
Antarian beast would not attempt to pass.
Albert whistled softly under his breath at what he saw, recorded it in
his memory. Then, having finished the eyewitness part of his task, he
recalled a section of road over which he had passed, and pushed.
The return journey to Vaornia was experimental in nature, as Albert
tried the range of his powers. His best was just short of twenty miles
and the journey which had taken him eight hours was made back in
somewhat less than twenty minutes, counting half a dozen delays and
backtracks.
* * * * *
There was no question about where Albert would go next. He had to get
evidence, and that evidence lay in only one place--in the local office
of the Interworld Corporation in Vaornia.
A moment later, he stood in the reception room looking across the empty
desks at the bright square of light shining through the glassite paneled
door of Fred Kemmer's office. It was past closing hours, but Kemmer had
a right to be working late. Right now, he was probably sweating blood at
the thought of what would happen if Albert had finally managed to escape
him. The Corporation would virtuously disown him and leave him to face a
ten-year rap in Penal Colony. Albert almost felt sorry for him.
Albert let his perception sense travel through the wall and into
Kemmer's room. His guess was right--the local boss was sweating.
He checked Kemmer's office swiftly, but the only thing that interested
him was the big vault beside the desk. He visualized the interior of the
vault and pushed himself inside. Separated from Kemmer by six inches of
the hardest metal known to Man, he quietly leafed through the files of
confidential correspondence until he found what he wanted. He didn't
need a light. His perception worked as well in the dark as in the
daylight.
There was enough documentary evidence in the big vault to indict quite a
few more IC officials than Kemmer--and perhaps investigation of _their_
files would provide more leads to even higher officials. Wherever Kemmer
was going, Albert had the idea that he wouldn't be going alone.
Albert selected all the incriminating letters and documents he could
find and packed the micro-files in his jacket. Finally, bulging with
documentary information, he pushed back into the streets.
It was late enough for few natives to be on the streets, and his
appearance caused no comment. Apparently unnoticed, he moved rapidly
into the Kazlak, searching for a place to hide the papers he had stolen.
What he had learned of Vaornia made him cautious. He checked constantly
for spies, but there wasn't a native in sensing range.
He ducked into the alleyway where he had caught Shifaz. His memory of it
had been right. There was a small hole in one of the building walls,
partly covered with cracked plaster, and barely visible in the darkness.
The gloom of the Kazlak scarcely varied with night or day, as the
enormous labyrinth of covered passages and building walls was pierced
with only a few ventilation holes. Cressets at the main intersections
burned constantly, their smokeless flames lighting the streets poorly.
He wondered idly how he had managed to remember the way to this place,
let alone the little hole in the wall, as he stuffed the micro-files
into its dark interior. He finished, turned to leave, and was out on the
main tunnel before he became aware of the IC ground cars closing in upon
him.
The Corporation was really on the beam, their spies everywhere. But they
didn't know his abilities. He visualized and pushed. They were going to
be surprised when he vanished--but he didn't vanish.
The expression of shocked surprise was still on his face as the stat gun
blast took him squarely in the chest.
* * * * *
He was tied to a chair in Fred Kemmer's office. He recognized it easily,
although physically he had never been inside the room. His head hurt as
a polygraph recorder was strapped to his left arm, and behind him,
beyond his range of vision, he could sense another man and several
machines. In front of him stood Fred Kemmer with an expression of
satisfaction on his face.
"Don't start thinking you're smart," Kemmer said. "You're in no position
for it."
"You've tried to kill me three times," Albert reminded him.
"There's always a fourth time."
"I don't think so. Too many people know."
"Precisely my own conclusion," Kemmer said, "but there are other ways.
Brainwashing's a good one."
"That's illegal!" Albert protested. "Besides--"
"So what?" Kemmer cut him off. "It's an illegal universe."
Albert probed urgently at the IC man's mind, hoping to find something he
could turn to his advantage, but all he found were surface
thoughts--satisfaction at having gotten the spy where he could do no
harm, plans for turning Albert into a mindless idiot, thoughts of
extracting information--all of which had an air of certainty that was
unnerving. Albert had badly underestimated him. It was high time to
leave here, if he could.
Albert visualized an area outside Vaornia, and, as he tried to push, a
machine hummed loudly behind him. He didn't move. Mistake, Albert
thought worriedly, I'm not going anywhere--and he knows I'm scared.
"It won't do you any good," Kemmer said. "It didn't take too much brains
to figure you were using hyperspace in those disappearing acts. There's
an insulating field around that chair that'd stop a space yacht." He
leaned forward. "Now--what are your contacts, and who gave you the
information on where to look?"
Albert saw no reason to hide it, but there was no sense in revealing
anything. The Patrol had word of his arrest by now and should be here
any moment.
It was as though Kemmer had read his mind. "Don't count on being
rescued. I stopped the Patrol report." Kemmer paused, obviously enjoying
the expression on Albert's face. "You know," he went on, "there's a
peculiar fact about nerves that maybe you don't know. A stimulus sets up
a brief neural volley lasting about a hundredth of a second. Following
that comes a period of refractivity lasting perhaps a tenth of that time
while the nerve repolarizes, and then, immediately after repolarization,
there is an extremely short period of hypersensitivity."
"What's that to do with me?" Albert asked.
"You'll find out if you don't answer promptly and truthfully. That
gadget on your arm is connected to a polygraph. Now do you want to make
a statement?"
Albert shook his head. He was conscious of a brief pain in one finger,
and the next instant someone tore the finger out of his hand with red
hot pincers. He screamed. He couldn't help it. This punishment was
beyond agony.
"Nice, isn't it?" Kemmer asked as Albert looked down at his amputated
finger that still was remarkably attached to his hand. "And the beauty
of it is that it doesn't even leave a mark. Of course, if it's repeated
enough, it will end up as a permanent paralysis of the part stimulated.
Now once again--who gave you that information?"
* * * * *
Albert talked. It was futile to try to deceive a polygraph and he wanted
no more of that nerve treatment--and then he looked into Kemmer's mind
again and discovered what went into brainwashing. The shock was like ice
water. Hypersensitive stimulation, Kemmer was thinking gleefully, would
reduce this fat slob in the chair to a screaming mindless lump that
could be molded like wet putty.
Albert felt helpless. He couldn't run and he couldn't fight. But he
wasn't ready to give up. His perception passed over and through Kemmer
with microscopic care, looking for some weakness, something that could
be exploited to advantage. Kemmer _had_ to have a vulnerable point.
He did.
There was a spot on the inner lining of the radial vein in Kemmer's left
arm. He had recently received an inoculation, one of the constant
immunizing injections that were necessary on Antar, for there was a
small thrombus clinging to the needle puncture on the inner wall of the
vessel. Normally it was unimportant and would pass away in time and be
absorbed, but there were considerable possibilities for trouble in that
little blob of red cells and fibrin if they could be loosened from their
attachment to the wall.
Hopefully, Albert reached out. If he couldn't move himself, perhaps he
could move the clot.
The thrombus stirred and came free, rushing toward Kemmer's heart.
Albert followed it, watching as it passed into the pulmonary artery,
tracing it out through the smaller vessels until it stopped squarely
across a junction of two arterioles.
Kemmer coughed, his face whitening with pain as he clutched at his
chest. The pain was a mild repayment for his recent agony, Albert
thought grimly. A pulmonary embolism shouldn't kill him, but the effects
were disproportionate to the cause and would last a while. He grinned
mercilessly as Kemmer collapsed.
A man darted from behind the chair and bent over Kemmer. Fumbling in his
haste, he produced a pocket communicator, stabbed frantically at the
dial and spoke urgently into it. "Medic! Boss's office--hurry!"
[Illustration]
For a second, Albert didn't realize that the hum of machinery behind him
had stopped, but when he did, both Albert and the chair vanished.
The Zark realized that its host had been hurt again. It was infuriating
to be so helpless. Things kept happening to Albert which it couldn't
correct until too late. There were forces involved that it didn't know
how to handle; they were entirely outside the Zark's experience. It only
felt relief when Albert managed to regain his ability to move--and, as
it looked out upon the familiar green Antarian countryside, it felt
almost happy. Of course Albert was probably still in trouble, but it
wasn't so bad now. At least the man was away from the cause of his pain.
* * * * *
It was a hell of a note, Albert reflected, sitting beside the road that
led to Lagash and working upon the bonds that tied him to the chair. He
had managed to get out of Kemmer's hands, but it appeared probable that
he would get no farther. As things stood, he couldn't transmit the
information he had gained--and by this time probably every IC office on
the planet was alerted to the fact that Earth Central had a psi-type
agent on Antar--one who was not inherently unstable, like those poor
devils in the parapsychological laboratories on Earth. They would be
ready for him with everything from Distorter screens to Kellys.
He didn't underestimate IC now. Whatever its morals might be, its
personnel was neither stupid nor slow to act. He was trapped in this
sector of the planet. Prime Base was over a thousand miles away, and
even if he did manage to make his way back to it along the trade routes,
it was a virtual certainty that he would never be able to get near a
class I communicator or the Patrol office. IC would have ample time to
get ready for him, and no matter what powers he possessed, a single man
would have no chance against the massed technology of the corporation.
However, he could play tag with IC in this area for some time with the
reasonable possibility that he wouldn't get caught. If nothing else, it
would have nuisance value. He pulled one hand free of the tape that held
it to the chair arm and swiftly removed the rest of the tape that bound
him. He had his freedom again. Now what would he do with it?
He left the chair behind and started down the road toward Lagash. There
was no good reason to head in that particular direction, but at the
moment one direction was as good as another until he could plan a course
of action. His brain felt oddly fuzzy. He didn't realize that he had
reached the end of his strength until he dropped in the roadway.
To compensate for the miserable job it had done in protecting him from
poison and neural torture, the Zark had successfully managed to block
hunger and fatigue pains until Albert's over-taxed body could stand no
more. It realized its error after Albert collapsed. Sensibly, it did
nothing. Its host had burned a tremendous amount of energy without
replenishment, and he needed time to rest and draw upon less available
reserves, and to detoxify and eliminate the metabolic poisons in his
body.
It was late that afternoon before Albert recovered enough to take more
than a passing interest in his surroundings. He had a vague memory of
hiring a dak cart driver to take him down the road. The memory was
apparently correct, because he was lying in the back of a cargo cart
piled high with short pieces of cane. The cart was moving at a brisk
pace despite the apparently leisurely movements of the dak between the
shafts. The ponderous ten-foot strides ate up distance.
He was conscious of a hunger that was beyond discomfort, and a thirst
that left his mouth dry and cottony. It was as though he hadn't eaten or
drunk for days. He felt utterly spent, drained beyond exhaustion. He was
in no shape to do anything, and unless he managed to find food and drink
pretty soon, he would be easy pickings for IC.
* * * * *
He looked around the cart, but there was nothing except the canes on
which he lay. There wasn't even any of the foul porridgelike mess that
the natives called food, since native workers didn't bother about eating
during working hours.
He turned over slowly, feeling the hard canes grind into his body as he
moved. He kept thinking about food--about meals aboard ship, about
dinners, about Earth restaurants, about steak, potatoes, bread--solid
heartening foods filled with proteins, fats and carbohydrates.
Carbohydrates--the thought stuck in his mind for some reason. And then
he realized why.
The canes he was lying on in in the cart were sugar cane! He had never
seen them on Earth, but he should have expected to find them out
here--one of Earth's greatest exports was the seeds from which beet and
cane sugar were obtained.
He pulled a length of cane from the pile and bit into one end. His
depleted body reached eagerly for the sweet energy that filled his
mouth.
With the restoration of his energy balance came clearer and more logical
thought. It might be well enough to make IC spend valuable time looking
for him, but such delaying actions had no positive value. Ultimately he
would be caught, and his usefulness would disappear with his death. But
if he could get word to the Patrol, this whole business could be
smashed.
Now if he made a big enough disturbance--it might possibly even reach
the noses of the Patrol. Perhaps by working through the hundred or so
tourists in Vaornia and Lagash, he could--
That was it, the only possible solution. The IC might be able to get rid
of one man, but it couldn't possibly get rid of a hundred--and somewhere
in that group of tourists there would be one who'd talk, someone who
would pass the word. IC couldn't keep this quiet without brainwashing
the lot of them, and that in itself would be enough to bring a Patrol
ship here at maximum blast.
He chuckled happily. The native driver, startled at the strange sound,
turned his head just in time to see his passenger vanish, together with
a bundle of cane. The native shook his head in an oddly human gesture.
These foreigners were strange creatures indeed.
* * * * *
Albert, thin, pale, but happy, sat at a table in one of the smaller
cafeterias in Earth Center, talking to the Chief over a second helping
of dessert. The fearful energy drain of esper activity, combined with
the constant dodging to avoid IC hunting parties, had made him a gaunt
shadow--but he had managed to survive until a Patrol ship arrived to
investigate the strange stories told by tourists, of a man who haunted
the towns of Lagash and Vaornia, and the road between.
"That's all there was to it, sir," Albert concluded. "Once I figured it
out that not even IC could get away with mass murder, it was easy. I
just kept popping up in odd places and telling my story, and then, to
make it impressive, I'd disappear. I had nearly two days before IC
caught on, and by then you knew. The only trouble was getting enough to
eat. I damn near starved before the Patrol arrived. I expect that we owe
quite a few farmers and shopkeepers reparations for the food I stole."
"They'll be paid, providing they present a claim," the Chief said. "But
there's one thing about all this that bothers me. I know you had no psi
powers when you left Earth on this mission, just where did you acquire
them?"
Albert shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "Unless they were latent
and developed in Antar's peculiar climatic and physical conditions. Or
maybe it was the shock of that meeting with the Bandersnatch. All I'm
sure of is that I didn't have any until after that meeting with Shifaz."
"Well, you certainly have them now. The Parapsych boys are hot on your
tail, but we've stalled them off."
"Thanks. I don't want to imitate a guinea pig."
"We owe you at least that for getting us a case against IC. Even their
shysters won't be able to wiggle out of this one." The Chief smiled.
"It's nice to have those lads where they can be handled for a change."
"They do need a dose of applied conscience," Albert agreed.
"The government also owes you a bonus and a vote of thanks."
"I'll appreciate the bonus," Albert said as he signaled for the
waitress. "Recently, I can't afford my appetite."
"It's understandable. After all, you've lost nearly eighty pounds."
"Wonder if I'll ever get them back," Albert muttered as he bit into the
third dessert.
The Chief watched enviously. "I wouldn't worry about that," he said.
"Just get your strength back. There's another assignment for you, one
that will need your peculiar talents." He stood up. "I'll be seeing you.
My ulcer can't take your appetite any more." He walked away.
Inside Albert, the Zark alerted. A new assignment! That meant another
world and new sensations. Truly, this host was magnificent! It had been
a lucky day when he had fallen in running from the Bandersnatch. The
Zark quivered with delight--
And Albert felt it.
Turning his perception inward to see what might be wrong, he saw the
Zark for the first time.
* * * * *
For a second, a wave of repulsion swept through his body, but as he
comprehended the extent of that protoplasmic mass so inextricably
intertwined with his own, he realized that this thing within him was the
reason for his new powers. There could be no other explanation.
And as he searched farther, he marveled. The Zark was unspecialized in a
way he had never imagined--an amorphous aggregation of highly evolved
cells that could imitate normal tissues in a manner that would defy
ordinary detection. It was something at once higher yet lower than his
own flesh, something more primitive yet infinitely more evolved.
The Zark had succeeded at last. It had established communication with
its host.
"Answer me, parasite," Albert muttered subvocally. "I know you're
there--and I know you can answer!"
The Zark gave the protean equivalent of a shrug. If Albert only knew how
it had tried to communicate--no, there was no communication between
them. Their methods of thought were so different that there was no
possible rapport.
It twitched--and Albert jumped. And for the first time in its long life,
the Zark had an original idea. It moved a few milligrams of its
substance to Albert's throat region, and after a premonitory glottal
spasm, Albert said very distinctly and quite involuntarily, "All right.
I am here."
Albert froze with surprise, but when the shock passed, he laughed.
"Well, I asked for it," he said. "But it's like the story about the man
who talked to himself--and got answers. Not exactly a comforting
sensation."
"I'm sorry," the Zark apologized. "I do not wish to cause discomfort."
"You pick a poor way to keep from doing it."
"It was the only way I could figure to make contact with your conscious
mind--and you desired that I communicate."
"I suppose you're right. But while it is nice to know that I really have
a guardian angel, I'd have felt better about it if you had white robes
and wings and were hovering over my shoulder."
"I don't understand," the Zark said.
"I was trying to be funny. You know," Albert continued after a moment,
"I never thought of trying to perceive myself. I wonder why. I guess
because none of the medical examinations showed anything different from
normal."
"I was always afraid that you might suspect before I could tell you,"
the Zark replied. "It was an obvious line of reasoning, and you _are_ an
intelligent entity--the most intelligent I have ever inhabited. It is
too bad that I shall have to leave. I have enjoyed being with you."
"Who said anything about leaving?" Albert asked.
"You did. I could feel your revulsion when you became aware of me. It
wasn't nice, but I suppose you can't help it. Yours is an independent
race, one that doesn't willingly support--" the voice hesitated as
though searching for the proper word--"fellow travelers," it finished.
Albert grinned. "There are historical precedents for that statement, but
your interpretation isn't quite right. I was surprised. You startled
me."
He fell silent, and the Zark, respecting the activity of his mind,
forbore to interrupt.
* * * * *
Albert was doing some heavy thinking about the Zark. Certainly it had
protected him on Antar, and with equal certainty it must have been
responsible for the psi powers he possessed. He owed it a lot, for
without its help he wouldn't have survived.
There was only one thing wrong.
Sexless though it was, the Zark must possess the characteristics of
life, since it was obviously alive. And those characteristics were
unchanging throughout the known universe. The four vital criteria
defined centuries ago were still as good today as they were
then--growth, metabolism, irritability--and _reproduction_. Despite its
lack of sex, the Zark must be capable of producing others of its kind,
and while he didn't mind supporting one fellow traveler, he was damned
if he'd support a whole family of them.
"That need never bother you," the Zark interrupted. "As an individual, I
am very long-lived and seldom reproduce. I can, of course, but the
process is quite involved--actually it involves making a twin out of
myself--and it is not necessary. Besides, there cannot be two Zarks in
one host. My offspring would have to seek another."
"And do they have your powers?"
"Of course. They would know all I know, for a Zark's memory is not
concentrated in specialized tissue like your brain."
A light began to dawn in Albert's mind. Maybe this was the answer to the
corporate conscience he had been wishing for so wistfully on Antar.
"Does it bother you to reproduce?" he asked.
"It is annoying, but not painful--nor would it be too difficult after a
pattern was set in my cells. But why do you ask this?"
"The thought just occurred to me that there are quite a few people who
could use a Zark. A few of the more honest folks would improve this
Confederation's moral tone if they had the power--and certainly psi
powers in law enforcement would be unbeatable."
"Then you would want me to reproduce?"