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suspicion.
Through the door, and then a thin, point-chin fellow fired questions at him
and fingered the classifying machine onto which he punched the answers.
Schwartz stammered his lies and truths with equal uncertainty.
But the personnel man began, at least, with a definite unconcern. The
questions were fired rapidly: Age?... Fifty-two? Hmm. State of
health?...Married?...Experience?...Worked with textiles?...Well, what
kind?...Thermoplastic? Elastomeric?...What do you mean, you think all
kinds?...Whom did you work with last?... Spell his name....You re not from
Chica, are you?... Where are your papers?...You ll have to bring them here if
you want action taken....What s your registration number?...
Schwartz was backing away. He hadn t foreseen this end when he had begun. And
the Mind
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Touch of the man before him was changing. It had become suspicious to the
point of single-trackedness, and cautious too. There was a surface layer of
sweetness and good-fellowship that was so shallow. and which overlay animosity
so thinly, as to De the most dangerous feature of all.
I think, said Schwartz nervously, that I m not suited for this job.
No, no, come back. And the man beckoned at him. We have something for you.
Just let me look through the files a bit. He was smiling, but his Mind Touch
was clearer now and even more unfriendly.
He had punched a buzzer on his desk--
Schwartz, in a sudden panic, rushed for the door.
Hold him! cried the other instantly. dashing from behind his desk.
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Schwartz struck at the Mind Touch, lashing out violently with his own mind,
and he heard a groan behind him. He looked quickly over his shoulder. The
personnel man was seated on the floor, face contorted and temples buried in
his palms. Another man bent over him; then, at an urgent gesture, headed for
Schwartz. Schwartz waited no more.
He was out on the street, fully aware now that there must be an alarm out for
him with a complete description made public, and that the personnel man, at
least, had recognized him.
He ran and doubled along the streets blindly. He attracted attention; more of
it now, for the streets were filling up--suspicion, suspicion
everywhere--suspicion because he ran--suspicion because his clothes were
wrinkled and ill-fitting
In the multiplicity of Mind Touches and in the confusion of his own fear and
despair. he could not identify the true enemies, the ones in which there was
not only suspicion but certainty, and so he hadn t the slightest warning of
the neuronic whip.
There was only that awful pain, which descended like the whistle of a lash and
remained like the crush of a rock. For seconds he coasted down the slope of
that descent into agony before drifting into the black.
13 - spider web at washenn
The grounds of the College of Ancients in Washenn are nothing if not sedate.
Austerity is the key word, and there is something authentically grave about
the clustered knots of novices taking their evening stroll among the trees of
the Quadrangle--where none but Ancients might trespass. Occasionally the
green-robed figure of a Senior Ancient might make its way across the lawn,
receiving reverences graciously.
And, once in a long while, the High Minister himself might appear.
But not as now, at a half run, almost in a perspiration, disregarding the
respectful raising of hands, oblivious to the cautious stares that followed
him, the blank looks at one another, the slightly raised eyebrows.
He burst into the Legislative Hall by the private entrance and broke into an
open run down the empty, step-ringing ramp. The door that he thundered at
opened at the foot pressure of the one within, and the High Minister entered.
His Secretary scarcely looked up from behind his small, plain desk, where he
hunched over a midget Field-shielded Televisor, listening intently and
allowing his eyes to rove over a quire or so of official-looking
communications that piled high before him.
The High Minister rapped sharply on the desk. What is this? What is going
on?
The Secretary s eyes flicked coldly at him, and the Televisor was put to one
side. Greetings, Your Excellency.
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Greet me no greetings! retorted the High Minister impatiently. I want to
know what is going on.
In a sentence, our man has escaped.
You mean the man who was treated by Shekt with the Synapsifier--the
Outsider--the spy--the one on the farm outside Chica--
It is uncertain how many qualifications the High Minister, in his anxiety,
might have rattled out had not the Secretary interrupted with an indifferent
Exactly.
Why was I not informed? Why am I never informed?
Immediate action was necessary and you were engaged. I substituted,
therefore, to the best of my ability.
Yes, you are careful about my engagements when you wish to do without me.
Now, I ll not have it. I will not permit myself to be by-passed and
sidetracked. I will not--
We delay, was the reply at ordinary speaking volume, and the High Minister s
half shout faded.
He coughed, hovered uncertainly at further speech, then said mildly:
What are the details, Balkis?
Scarcely any. After two months of patient waiting, with nothing to show for
it, this man Schwartz left--was followed--and was lost.
How lost?
We are not sure, but there is a further fact. Our agent, Natter, missed three
reporting periods last night. His alternates set out after him along the
highway toward Chica and found him at dawn. He was in a ditch at the side of
the highway--quite dead.
The High Minister paled. The Outsider had killed him?
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