Max Hunter rode the autojet to the casino. As the machine rose past
the city levels, he found himself thinking less about Ann and a good
deal more about Dawn--a Recreational companion woman who was
simultaneously a psychiatrist. Where did she really fit in the subtle
battle between the titan cartels? Which of them was her ally--or did
Dawn represent another element as yet unidentified?
Knowing Ann Saymer had taught Hunter a wholesome respect for the
thinking of a First in Psychiatry. They operated with a deviousness
that made cartel treacheries seem like child's play. He knew that Dawn
had manipulated their conversation in the terminal to her own ends.
Behind that deftly-phrased patter of words, what else had she tried to
tell him? And what had she tried to find out? "Top level," she had
said. "That's logical." Why logical? Logical to whom? Did she know
where he was going and why?
The autojet thudded on the casino flat. A female attendant, robed in a
skin-colored sheath bright with amber jewels, held open the cab door
for him. Hunter entered the nearest casino. At the door he showed his
saving record in the Solar First National Fund, and a casino teller
issued him a ten thousand credit limit, the smallest denomination
available. The resorts weren't wasting effort on pikers.
Although the casinos everywhere in the system were popular with
spacemen, Hunter had never been to the top level before because Ann
had seen to it that his surplus credits went into their savings.
It was Hunter's opinion that he hadn't missed much. The Los Angeles
resorts duplicated, on an elaborate scale, the most unsavory
establishments of the frontier. Anything which by any stretch of a
perverted imagination could be defined as entertainment was
available--at a price.
It was early and the crowd was still small. It consisted of spacemen
on the usual furlough binge, a handful of suburbanites who had
hoarded a half-year's savings for this one-night fling in the big
resorts, and a dozen bright-faced executives from the lower levels of
the cartel hierarchy. The big brass would turn up later on, at a more
fashionable hour.
At all costs, Hunter had to keep himself inconspicuous. His uniform
was not entirely out of place, although Consolidated did issue its
commanders a formal outfit--more gold braid, a jeweled insignia, and a
jacket cut to emphasize the broad shoulders.
Hunter stopped at the snack bar and wolfed a plate of cold cuts, the
first food he had eaten since morning. Then he moved indirectly across
the pillared gambling pavilion, pausing at two tables to place bets.
His objective was to find a vantage point in the upper floor of the
casino where he could observe the geographic layout of the top level.
He slipped quickly into the dark well of an emergency stairway,
feeling reasonably sure that no one had seen him leave the game room.
More than half an hour had passed since he had fled Mrs. Ames' rooming
house and he was convinced that very shortly--if they had not done so
already--the police would put out a general alarm.
As a matter of course, there would be inquiries at the top level, but
at first they would be made by police mercenaries. No one in the
casino had any reason to identify Hunter as the fugitive. Later on, of
course, when the police used electronic trackers, he wouldn't stand a
chance. But before that happened he intended to make a deal with
Werner von Rausch.
At the top of the stairs he found a tower window which afforded a
crow's nest view of the top level. The twelve casinos, bright with
lights, occupied more than half the area. Beyond the resort parkland
was the small, white government building, dignified by its simplicity
among so much ostentation. Beside it was the transparent semi-sphere
housing the top landing of the center-city lifts. A third structure--a
grotesque mechanical monster trapped in the heart of a spider-web of
converging wires--was the power distribution center for the top level.
In back of the government building a high, metal-faced fence knifed
across the level. That fence guarded the forbidden home-ground of the
titans. Hunter could see the silhouette of the cartel castles rising
against the sky, two gigantic masses of stone. The one on the west was
Farren's; the eastern one, Von Rausch's. That much and no more was
common knowledge.
Were the two families, who had fought for so long to control the
empire beyond the stars, on speaking terms here? Did they observe the
social amenities in the same spirit that their companies enforced the
sham peace on earth? In their lonely, lofty isolation, what
amusements did they enjoy? What contributed to the enrichment of the
lives of those fragile beings who possessed the wealth of the galaxy?
Hunter was sure no armed guards patrolled the forbidden paradise.
There was no need for them, for scanners formed a protective grid over
the area. An autojet, attempting a landing from any direction, would
break a beam and instantly become the target for the autoblasters
erected at intervals along the fence. A man attempting to scale the
wall would meet the same lethal charge.
Hunter saw one small gate with an identification screen mounted in
front of it. Obviously the gate would open to the handprint of a Von
Rausch or a Farren. But a stranger would find himself standing in the
line of fire of two blasters, conspicuous over the gate.
The scanners, the blasters, the identification screen--all the
complex, electronic watchdogs--depended solely upon power. Countless
other people, Hunter knew, had realized that. Only mechanically
produced power made the area invulnerable. Anyone could break through
the fence. It hadn't been done before, perhaps, because no other man
had ever had Hunter's motivation. None had been a fugitive on the run.
Hunter made his way out of the casino and crossed the park in the
direction of the government building. Sheltered by the trees from the
blaze of light, he was able to see the stars, bright in the velvet
sky. The endless universe! Somewhere he could find a haven for himself
and Ann, a pinprick of light in the high-arching firmament which the
cartels had overlooked.
Dawn had said that running away was madness. But what alternative did
he have? To stay, and attempt to make the cartel rat-race over,
sweetly and rationally so that no one would be hurt? Hunter laughed
bitterly. Von Rausch had the Exorciser, and he could keep it. It would
be part of the bargain the captain thought he could make to save Ann.
With that weapon, Von Rausch would sooner or later tear his own world
to shreds. No man in his right mind would want to stay around to pick
up the pieces--if any. He drew his blaster and took careful aim at the
power distribution center.
The machine exploded. Burning wires sang in the air. In the casinos
the lights winked out, and the entertainment machines went dark.
Hunter heard the shrill screaming of the trapped crowd. He knew that
it would bring the police running, but he also knew they would have
arrived shortly in any case. The important thing was that the
electronic watchdogs on the wall were now lifeless.
Hunter blasted open the gate, and took the path that led east.
The Von Rausch castle--and the word was scarcely a metaphor--was
something lifted bodily out of a Tri-D historical romance, complete
with porticos, battlements, stone-walled towers and an imitation moat
where mechanical swans floated on the dark water.
He crossed the moat on a rustic footbridge of plastic cleverly
fabricated to seem like crudely hewn wood. Through a high, narrow
window he saw a pale flicker of light. The pane was thick with grime.
Hunter could distinguish nothing in the room except a thin, elderly
woman who seemed to be moving around a table where six candles burned
in a silver candelabrum.
He kicked open the window. The woman looked at him, neither frightened
nor alarmed. She was wearing an odd black dress, long-sleeved,
high-necked, with a hemline that touched the floor. Her face was pale
and wrinkled, unrelieved by any sort of cosmetic.
She held out her fragile hands. "You did come, Karl! I knew you
wouldn't disappoint Auntie."
Hunter cried through clenched teeth, "I want Werner von Rausch. Where
is he?"
"Goodness, dear, how should I know? Werner never comes to my parties."
Hunter noticed the table, then, set for eight, its gleaming silver and
gold-rimmed china glowing in the soft candle light.
"Your Cousin Charlotte's already here, Karl." The woman gestured
gracefully toward the table. "And little Helmig. They know how
important it is to come on time."
He felt horror--and unconscious pity--as he realized the truth. Yet he
tried once more to get from her the information he wanted.
"Oh, bother with Werner," she answered, pouting. "If you must know, I
didn't even invite him. He's such a bore among young people."
She saw the blaster in Hunter's hand and pushed it aside gently, with
a grimace of disapproval. "I don't like you to have these toys, Karl.
Next thing, you'll be wanting to join the army."
Hunter flung himself out of that room, into a dark and musty hall.
Behind him he heard the woman still talking, as if he had never left
her. He blundered from one bleak room to another, rooms that were like
tombs smelling of dust and decay.
On the second floor he came upon a small, balding man who sat reading
at a desk in a room crammed with tottering stacks of old books. The
light came from an antiquated electric lamp. Obviously the house had
its own generating plant, independent of the power center Hunter had
destroyed.