"I brought you down in a soft spot."
"You felt like an elephant running amok! Boy, you've got to be careful.
Since you were a little boy I've taught you to watch every move. For a
moment I don't think you knew how you felt."
"You're right," Sordman mumbled. "That was close."
"Let's find the picture," Lee said. "Has the drug worn off?"
"Just about. The picture's over by that tree. It feels like it's
rumpled up."
After a minute's hunt, they found it. It had been rolled into a ball
and tossed away.
"We're dealing with an amateur," Lee said. "A Talent who was even
half-developed would have burned this."
Unrolled, the picture fell in half. It had been sliced with a blade.
"Let's walk back," Sordman said. "Let's talk."
They crossed a log bridge. He ran his hands along the rough bark
and smelled the cool water of the stream. Most of the big park was
wilderness, but here and there were pavilions, an outdoor theatre, open
playing fields and beautifully planned gardens. A man could have a home
surrounded by the shops and pleasures of civilized living and yet only
be a ten-minute elevator ride from God's bounty.
"The fact the killer used the newspaper picture doesn't _prove_ Bedler
was the real victim," George said. "But it indicates it."
"Let's assume it's true," Sordman said, "and see where it leads us."
"Bedler was married," Lee said. "I remember that from our briefing."
Sordman rabbit-punched a tree as he passed it. "It was a one-year
contract, and it ended two weeks ago."
"I smell jealousy," Lee said.
"The world is filled with it," George said. "I favor short-term
marriages. They're the only way a person can practice a difficult art
and make mistakes without committing himself for life. But about half
the mental breakdowns I used to get were due to the insecurities caused
by a temporary contract. One party almost always hopes the marriage
will somehow become permanent."
"Let's talk to Bedler's ex-wife," Sordman said.
* * * * *
Her name was Jackie Baker. She was just over five feet tall and blonde.
She wore glasses with green frames.
Sordman liked big women but he had to admit this little creature made
him feel like swatting and rubbing.
She wore a sea-green kimono and bowed gracefully at the door.
"Citizen Baker, I'm Protector Andrew Sordman. May we talk to you?"
"Certainly, Protector. Welcome."
They entered and he introduced Lee and George. After they exchanged
bows, the girl offered them some wine. She took a bottle of clear Rhine
wine from the cooler and asked George to open it. There were several
journals on a throw table.
"Are you a doctor, Citizen?" Lee asked.
"No, Politician. A medical technician."
They drank the first glass of wine.
"Technician," George said, "we have to ask you some questions. We'll
try not to upset you."
The girl closed her eyes. "I'll try not to be upset. I hope you find
whoever killed him. I'd like to find her."
The girl felt lonely. She ached with unsatisfied needs. I'd like to
lie with you and comfort you, Sordman thought. I'd like to hold you in
my arms and drain all the tears you're holding back. But he couldn't.
His contract with his wife had six months to run and no one committed
adultery any more. "When the rules are carefully tailored to human
needs," Lee often said, "there's no excuse for breaking them."
"Why 'her'?" Lee asked. "Why 'her' instead of 'him'?"
The girl looked at Sordman. "Can't you just probe my mind? Do I have to
answer questions?"
"I'm afraid so," Sordman said. "My Talent has its limits. I can't
deep-probe everybody's mind, any more than a baseball pitcher can pitch
all day."
Lee said, "Even if he could, our warrant says we can't probe more than
four suspects."
"Now can you tell us why you think the killer is a woman?" George asked.
* * * * *
The girl held out her glass and George filled it. "Because he was the
kind of man who made you want to kill him. He was understanding and
loving. He made me feel like a princess all the time I lived with him.
But he can't keep to one girl." She gulped down the whole glass. "He
told me so himself. He was so wonderful to live with I went insane
every time he looked at another girl. I knew he was shopping for his
next wife." She wiggled in her chair. "Is that what you want to know?"
"I'm sorry," Sordman said. "Do you know who he was interested in before
he died?"
The girl had big, myopic eyes. "Our contract ended sixteen days ago."
She took a cigarette from inside her kimono. "Protector Sordman, could
I just talk to you?"
"Certainly," Sordman said.
Lee and George went to a coffee house on the next floor down.
"I want to talk to just you," the girl said. "I feel safe with you. You
make me feel right."
"It goes with being a Talent," Sordman said. "Either we like people and
let them know it or we crack."
"I know it's all right to tell you things. I love Joe. I broke the
rules for him. I didn't avoid him for three months the way you're
supposed to. I went everywhere I knew he'd be. I had to see him."
Sordman stroked his beard. Mentally, he cuddled her in his arms and
murmured comfort to her.
She hunched her shoulders and wrapped her arms around her body.
"Just before our marriage ended, I found out he was seeing Raven
English as much as he could. He didn't break the rules. But when we
went to dances he always danced with her once or twice. And she and
her husband used to meet us in bars. After the contract expired, he
couldn't see her much because she and her husband have another six
months to go. But there was a dance last week and I saw the two of them
disappear into the park. Raven's husband hunted all over for her. He
looked horrible. I pitied him."
"Who's Raven English?"
"She's a sadist. I know she is. She's just the type to do this. She
likes to play with men and hurt them. Her poor husband is a nervous
wreck. I know she killed Joe, Protector. She hates us!"
He stood up. The girl watched him with big eyes. He put his hand on her
head.
"Sleep is a joy," he said.
Unprepared, he couldn't have done that to many people. But she was a
woman, which added to his influence, and totally exhausted.
* * * * *
He got off the vator and looked around for the coffee house. Dozens of
people wandered the halls and the shops. As he walked down the hall,
some of them looked away or got as far from him as they could. Others
ignored him or found his presence reassuring or studied him curiously.
A fat woman in a black kimono walked toward him. She had one hand on
her hip and her eyes were narrowed and hard. Sordman smiled. He felt
her fear and distrust, and her determination not to let such emotions
conquer her.
"Good afternoon, Protector."
"Good afternoon, Citizen Mother."
He felt her triumph and her pleasure with herself.
His fellow humans often made him gawk in wonder. Some people say we're
psychic cripples, he thought. And maybe we are. But we do our work and
we enjoy ourselves. And we do dangerous things like putting bases on
Venus and falling in love. Surrounded by death and danger, crippled
though we are, we go on.
He swelled with feeling. People smiled and glanced at each other or hid
shyly from the organ chords of his emotion.
An old man stepped in front of him.
"Monster! Freak!"
He was thin and perfectly dressed. Sordman stopped. God of Infinite
Compassion, this is my brother....
"They ought to lock you up," the man said. "They ought to keep you away
from decent people. Get out of my head! Leave me alone!"
People stared at them. A small crowd gathered. Lee appeared in the door
of the coffee house.
"It's all right," Sordman told the people. "It's all right." He started
to go on.
The man stepped in front of him. "Leave me alone, freak. Let me think
my own thoughts!"
"Citizen, I haven't touched your mind."
"I felt it just then!"
"It was no more than I could help. I'm sorry if I've hurt you."
"Go away!"
"I'm trying to."
"Murderer! Mind witch!"
He was faced with a strong mind that valued its independence. Anything
he did would be detected and resented.
"Citizens," he said, "this man deserves your respect. No matter what
a man does, he's bound to offend someone. This Citizen values his
privacy--which is good--and therefore I make him angry. I hope the good
my Talent lets me do outweighs the bad. Forgive me, brother."
He stepped to one side. "Leave him alone," someone said. "Let the
Protector work."
"Leave him alone, old man."
"_I'm not an old man._"
"No, you're not," Sordman said. "I admire your courage." He walked on.
Behind him the old man shouted curses.
"Are you all right?" Lee said.
"Sure. Let's go in and sit down."
There were just a few people in the coffee house. Sordman ordered and
told them what he had learned.
"I wish you could probe everyone in the building," George said. "All we
get is gossip."
"The husband of this Raven English has a motive," Lee said. "Why don't
we visit her?"
"I think we should." Sordman drank his coffee. "Citizen English
herself might have killed them."
"I doubt it," George said.
"It all sounds like a lot of talk," Sordman said. "But we have to
follow it up. This business is nothing but wearing out your legs
running after every lead. If your legs are strong, you can run anybody
down."
They finished their coffee and cigarettes and trudged out.
* * * * *
Raven English, one-year wife of Leonard Smith, did not meet them at the
door with gracious bows. Instead, a wall panel by the door shot back.
They stared at a square of one way glass.
"Who are you?" a girl's voice said.
"I'm Andrew Sordman, your Protector. I come on lawful business. May we
enter?"
"No."
"Why not?" Lee asked.
"Because I don't like witches. Keep out."
"We're hunting the killer," Sordman said. "We're on your side. I've
taken no drugs and made no preparations. You don't have to be afraid."
"I'm not afraid. I just don't want you in my home."
"You have to let us in," Lee said. "Our warrant gives us entry into
every room in this hotel. If we have to break the door down, we can."
"I hope we don't have to break the door down."
"You're getting fat," George said. "You need the exercise."
"You won't break in," the girl said.
Sordman crossed the hall to get a good start. "I'm about to, Mylady."
His shoulder filled the doorway behind him. This looks like fun, he
thought. He liked to feel his body working.
The door opened. A dark-haired, slender girl stood in the doorway. Her
skin was brown and her lips were pink, unpainted flesh. She wore a red
kimono.
"All right. Come in."
"Gladly," Sordman said.
It was a three-room apartment, with the kitchen tucked into one wall of
the parlor. A painting stood on an easel by the window. The window was
a shoulder-high slit and from it, here on the hundred and forty-first
floor, he could see across the park to the beach and the rolling
Atlantic.
God grant me self-control, he thought. If this is the killer, grant me
self-control. He made his savage thoughts lie down and purred at the
world.
"I'm sorry we have to force our way in," he said. "And I'm sorry you
don't approve of Talent. But please remember two men have died and a
little girl may die, too. There are lots of panicky people in the Mark
Twain. We've got to find the killer soon and you can help us."
"Why bother me?" the girl said.
"This is awkward," Lee said. She stood erect but looked past the girl.
She felt embarrassed. "Someone told us you and Bedler were seeing each
other."
"Oh, quit being prudish," George said. "These things happen all the
time." He turned to the girl. "We were told you and Joe Bedler were
making plans to get married when your present contract ends."
"That's a lie!"
Sordman laughed in his belly. No matter what the rules were, few women
publicly admitted they had broken them. By the standards of the period
from 1800 to 1990, the whole marriage system of the Twenty-First
Century was immoral; but there were still prudes. And women still
preserved the conventions.
"Who told you that?" Raven English said. She frowned. "Was it that
Jackie Baker?"
"Why her?" George asked.
"Because she's a logical person for you to talk to and because it's the
kind of thing she'd say."
"Yes," Sordman said.
"She ought to see a psycher! And that's why you came?"
"We're not accusing you," Sordman said. "But we've got to follow every
lead."
* * * * *
The girl swore. "Why would I kill Joe? Why are you all suspicious?
That's why I hate Talents! All you've done is make everyone
suspicious. Everybody's afraid of everybody else."
"Are you an artist?" Sordman asked.
"What?"
"Are you an artist?"
"What's that got to do with it? No, I'm not. My husband paints."
He felt her stall and evade. She would grab at any subject to distract
them. He decided he would let his mind probe at random.
"Is he a professional painter?" Lee asked.
"No, he's an engineer. They wouldn't let him go to art school. He's
trying to teach himself." She shrugged and ogled the ceiling.
Her emotions said, Men are like that.
"What does your husband think of Talent?" Sordman asked. "Does he share
your prejudice?"
"Didn't you meet Len?"
"Where?" He stroked his beard. "Is he the Len downstairs in the beer
hall?"
"Of course!"
"I'm afraid I didn't make the connection."
He felt two other minds run like hounds down the same trail.