In a dim corner of the apartment Talbot fingered a picture of Eleanor.
Soleri’s taste in women closely paralleled his own. From a distance
Eleanor could be mistaken for Laura. She was a trifle prettier perhaps,
more lighthearted and whimsical, and more used to having her own way.
He didn’t want to put through a long-distance call to her. He was
entangled enough as it was with Randy, the three-cornered struggle
between himself, Taft and Frescura and the unknown obstructionist in
the plant, not to mention the perfectly efficient rocket motor that was
never going to be built.
He laid the picture face downwards on his desk, and went to the screen.
But he didn’t call Eleanor Taft in her South African home. He called
Randy.
She answered in a charming state of dishabille. “Is this the way you
always come to the screen?” he asked.
“I knew it was you,” she replied. “I’m only surprised that you didn’t
call sooner.”
“Put some clothes on,” he said.
“Don’t you like it? Or are you asking me to come over?”
“I like it,” he said. “But don’t come over. Not yet. I want some
information. Precisely what did you do this afternoon?”
She made a face. “It was awful. Candidly I thought I’d stumbled into
an old fashioned mental institution. I never would have believed I was
eavesdropping on a high-level conference between the three top minds in
the biggest corporation in the system.”
“We’re human too,” he said gloomily. “At least I think we are. What I
meant was: What did you do when Frescura came out of my office and Taft
went in?”
“Do you want a detailed report?”
“Yes--all of it. Exactly as it happened.”
“Well, Frescura came out and talked to Taft for a moment. Taft went in
to see you, and Frescura wanted some information from another office.
He sent me to get it. When I came back he handed me the folder and told
me to take it to plant protection. He said to wait there for results
and bring it back as soon as I could.”
“Is that all?”
“That’s all.”
“Good,” Talbot said. “Put on your clothes and come over.”
“I’m glad you changed your mind.”
“So am I. But I won’t be home when you get here. I may not be back
until quite late. Whatever you do, don’t leave the apartment until I
return. Promise?”
“What choice do you give me? I’ll wait.”
He cut off the screen and reached for a jacket. With methodical
persistence he went through Soleri’s possessions until he found a gun.
He had expected to find one. He checked it swiftly to make sure that
it was loaded and in working condition. It was. He pocketed it with
satisfaction and called a cab. He had to hurry.
He saw from the air that the entire plant was dark except for a light
in one of the offices. Even from a distance he thought he could tell
which office it was. The cab landed, and he got out. There was a guard
at the office entrance. He questioned the man quickly, and thoroughly.
The plant was closed down tight. All of the other gates were securely
locked and would remain closed until morning. The guard hadn’t seen
anyone leave or enter the building. He didn’t know whether or not the
office was occupied but it was reasonable to suppose that someone might
be working late. Talbot stood back and looked. The light wasn’t visible
from the corridor entrance.
Talbot told the guard to stop anyone who came out. He went in and made
a tour of the offices. They were all dark. The man in the lighted
office had apparently heard Talbot enter the building and had left
ahead of him.
Talbot moved warily into the main shop. It was huge, cavernous and dim.
He would not have been able to see at all except for the luminous strip
which edged the aisles. Shadows loomed on the walls and ceiling and
it would have been a simple matter for an intruder to conceal himself
behind one of the machines.
He went on. None of the laboratories were lighted. Back and forth
across the plant he went, always sure there was a man just ahead of him
he could never quite overtake. He turned and had begun to retrace his
route when a light snapped on in the middle section of the building.
He felt the gun in his pocket and walked to the edge of the circle of
light.
Frescura was standing completely motionless behind a machine, his head
inclined. He looked up abruptly as Talbot approached. “I knew you would
come back,” said Talbot.
“I did,” acknowledged Frescura.
“You lied this afternoon,” Talbot said. “Randy didn’t ‘accidentally’
touch the button which enabled you to hear what I was saying. She
wasn’t there. You sent her away so that you could listen.”
Frescura smiled and said nothing.
“You figured out what I was going to recommend to Taft. But you wanted
to be sure. Another thing, I didn’t slip. You knew from the beginning
or you would never have thought of the fingerprint subterfuge. You had
to be the one who rolled in the bomb.”
“Of course,” said Frescura. “Soleri confided to only two people that he
was going to bring you in--myself and Randy. If Soleri had survived he
would have remembered that. Therefore I guessed the truth instantly. I
knew what you were capable of. That’s why I tried to get rid of both
you, and Soleri.”
“You must have sweated while I was in the hospital,” said Talbot. “It’s
a good thing Randy was watching over me.”
“It was a good thing for you that I was nervous,” said Frescura.
“Later, when you got well and didn’t say anything I knew exactly what
had happened. I thought I could handle you.”
“That was your biggest mistake. I caused all sorts of trouble. But
why did you have to get rid of anyone? Was it because you were close
to success? Or because you wanted the discovery for yourself when the
company failed?”
“You’re still thinking in terms of money,” said Frescura. “There are
things of far greater importance. The discovery was mine. It was mine
from the very beginning. I did all the fundamental work. After the
first year I could have built a motor that would drive a ship near the
speed of light.”
Talbot leaned back. “And you still asked for more money, pouring it
endlessly into non-existent research? I’ll admit that you could have
led us astray--if anybody could. But why?”
“I wanted to be absolutely successful in establishing a conviction
that the motor could never be built,” said Frescura. “It was a
problem in business psychology. I bought shares in the largest
company in existence. I had influence, and I persuaded them to spend
impossible sums under the direction of the foremost scientist in the
field--myself. If that combination couldn’t build the motor no one else
would ever try.”
“What did you have to gain?” said Talbot.
“Why don’t you ask me what I had to lose,” countered Frescura. “That
engine would take us to the stars. Mankind isn’t ready for it.”
“There’s something to what you say,” conceded Talbot. “Maybe we’re not
ready. I’m not a judge. But you’re a scientist. Nearly everyone in your
family has been a distinguished scientist for generations. Surely _you_
should know that man is never fully ready for any new discovery.”
“I am aware of my family’s collective guilt,” said Frescura. “But no
Frescura will ever again be instrumental in leading mankind to the
verge of destruction.”
“That’s not an enlightening or entirely sane explanation,” said Talbot.
“To you, perhaps not,” said Frescura. “To me it is. Both of my
grandfathers worked on the atom bomb. It has haunted us--”
Talbot’s hand moved toward the gun in his pocket. “I see,” he said. “It
might haunt some people. However that disaster was prevented, just as
your insane little scheme will be. You’ve failed.”
“You’re mistaken,” said Frescura. “This afternoon I knew you’d begin to
suspect me. I left deliberately, making sure you would see me go. But I
came back.”
“So did I,” said Talbot. “You failed.”
“I hardly think you’ll shoot me,” said Frescura.
“I will if I have to. You left notes. Other men will make good use of
them now that they know you’ve been guilty of sabotage and murder.”
“My notes will be quite useless to them,” said Frescura with a
melancholy smile. “I told you I was far ahead of everyone else in the
field.”
The gun came out of Talbot’s pocket. He was sweating. “There are times
when everyone feels that the human race isn’t worth blowing to hell,”
he said. “You’ll feel differently after psychology. Let’s go.”
“I can’t. My foot’s caught, and I’m in great pain. I turned on the
light to prevent you from plugging away at me in the darkness.” He was
staring intently at Talbot’s weapon. “I don’t have a gun. You will have
to help me.”
Talbot had no intention of moving any closer to Frescura’s powerful
arms. “You’ll have to free yourself,” he said. “Your foot will slip out
of the shoe.”
“I’ll try.” Frescura leaned on the machine and strained. His leg
swung free. There was an odd rattling sound. Talbot glanced down--and
froze. Scores of black spheres were rolling across the floor in all
directions. Thermal capsules! Frescura had quite obviously been lying
about the injury to his leg. He had resorted to the subterfuge to
distract Talbot’s attention while he overturned a small box at the base
of the machine with a swift carefully timed kick.
Talbot glanced up. Frescura had leapt back into the shadows, and was
crouching behind the machines, his bulk only faintly visible in the dim
light.
“Can you find all of them in this light--in the time you have left?” he
taunted. “What would you do with them if you succeeded?”
Talbot raised his gun and sent a shot crashing into the shadows in the
general direction of the voice. As the dim subsided he called out, “The
next one will be you! Start toward the front.”
There was a mocking laugh from another direction. “I don’t think I
will. But you’d better hurry, Talbot.”
He didn’t stop to argue. The shop would be an inferno when the covering
of the capsules disintegrated.
The shop was long, but it took him scarcely an instant to reach the
office building. The two structures were connected, but there was a
massive firewall between them. Talbot was thankful for the wall’s
protection.
At the corridor near the outside entrance he tried to turn too quickly
and went sprawling into a side passageway. He cursed the panic which
had caused him to stumble. It wasn’t entirely physical. His knees had
simply buckled and he couldn’t control his actions as he slammed into
the wall and fell. He was trying to get up when the thermal concussion
hit him.
The superheated air expanded violently and hurled him flat again. In
the shop steel and concrete had been instantly vaporized near each
sphere. But the firewall at the office held. It took up most of the
shock before it crumbled, and the sprinklers switched on.
Talbot became suddenly and violently ill. It was partly a nervous
reaction, partly a physical one. The guard from the outside came by,
running toward the explosion. He didn’t see Talbot lying stretched out
on the floor in the side corridor.
Talbot staggered to his feet and went outside. He was still panic
stricken; he ran.
When finally he was out of breath and the fear and nausea had
diminished, he slowed down. He came to a rise in the street and looked
back. The shop was a glowing mass of white hot steel and concrete.
Now and then a capsule which had been timed for a different interval
belatedly let loose, sending up a shower of sparks. Frescura was dead.
Attracted by the fire and explosion people were coming out on the
street. It was dark and he was glad he couldn’t see their faces. He
tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. He went by a group
under a street light. A little boy stopped in front of him, gazing up.
“Mommy, what’s the matter with him?” shrieked the child, pointing to
Talbot’s face.
The woman looked too. “Hush,” she said, jerking her son back. “You know
it’s bad manners to point.”
“But what’s the _matter_ with him?” persisted the child.
Talbot walked on. His clothing was disheveled, but not burned. He felt
light-headed, unsteady on his feet. He was not surprised that the woman
had pulled the child away.
He had done his best. He had tried desperately to save Frescura from
his misplaced guilt feelings. Now he was going home to Randy. He had
thought his return would be more triumphant than this.
He was nearing the apartment when he caught sight of himself in a shop
mirror. He went past, then came back, and looked again. Finally he
looked away. Into his mind had washed a torrent of terror. His eyes
seemed empty and hueless.
His cheeks sagged. His face was _Between_.
His empathy had been shattered by shock and fear. He could close the
gulf between Soleri and himself because they had been very much alike
to begin with. But Frescura was different, incomprehensible. He could
never have succeeded in understanding Frescura.
He had caught the last shreds of Frescura’s consciousness, and it was
that terrifying awareness which had sent him sprawling just before the
concussion. The obscure forces of his mind tried always to put him in
another’s place. In times of extreme mental reaction the force became
much stronger. But it couldn’t span the emotional gulf between himself
and the scientist.
What it had done was to force out the lingering hold Soleri’s
personality still had on him. He was no longer Soleri. But by the same
token he was not yet himself.
He was reverting.
And his face was Between. It was a visible indication of what he was
becoming. He couldn’t ever hope to pass as Soleri again. And that meant
that Randy would be lost to him forever.
He turned and walked away from the apartment. His thoughts were dull
and blank. He walked on until his body rebelled.
He stared about him. His wandering hadn’t been haphazard.
Subconsciously his steps had taken him to his old apartment. He was
standing in front of the building where he had lived as Hal Talbot.
Wearily he climbed two flights of stairs and let himself in with a key
which he had never discarded.
He fell on the bed. It was Talbot who went to sleep.