Bert shook his head, “No, you exercise these special abilities of yours that I didn’t know you had until a couple of days ago.”
“Oh, oh,” Jim said. “Such as?”
“Can you get into that penthouse of Katz’?”
“Why?”
“Because somewhere there are probably papers, or whatever, that deal with this whole project. We need a look at them. We also need a look at Bugs Paul’s secret, secrets.”
“Oh, swell. I can just see me prowling the Octagon.”
“What we want wouldn’t be in the Octagon. It’d be in his private house or apartment, wherever he lives. And, in view of his position in Security, it’s doubtful if anyone expects burglars to be breaking into his place.”
“Burglar?” Jim said, aggrieved. “That’s a devil of a handle to hang on me. I’m currently a scholar and a gentleman.”
“Can you do it?”
“I guess I can try, Killer.”
They began their new campaign immediately, Bert and Jill going to their respective studies and turning on with the brown pills.
Bert checked out whether or not his priority rating in (he data banks had been changed as promised. He dialed information, put his card in the screen slot and said, “What is my priority rating?”
“Priority Five, Mr. Alshuler.”
Fine. He assumed that Jill’s had also been upped. He didn’t know exactly what a five priority meant but it seemed satisfactory, if Jim Hawkins, as a university student, had only a three.
Yesterday, with Jim’s card he had been able to get various books on neuro-physiology, but had been stymied in looking into the science beyond a certain point. He recalled some of the books and authors involved and now requested them. And soon realized how lacking in background he was to make a serious study.
After an hour or two, he called it quits for the time being and went over to his auto-teacher and took up his examination stylus.
“Next subject,” he said.
“Elementary Biology,” the screen’s voice told him.
Well, at least that would fit in with his secret research. It was one of his difficulties in his studies of the highly specialized field of medicine. He hadn’t the scientific background to understand enough of it, no matter how stimulated his I.Q. and perception.
He got through the biology course and one in beginning French before stopping. He had a sneaking suspicion that although he already had a sizable vocabulary in the language and could read it fairly well, he’d have his work cut out communicating with any Frenchman. His accent was undoubtedly atrocious and he didn’t see how they were going to improve it much on an auto-teacher. Picking up an acceptable accent in a foreign tongue was largely experience.
The three of them had dinner together in Bert’s dining room and went into more details of their campaign. It was astonishing how much food Jill was capable of putting away.
Jim stared at her. “How in the devil am I ever going to afford that appetite when we’re married?”
“Ha,” she said. “Where’d you get the idea we were going to be married, lover boy?”
He portrayed hurt “It’s my fondest dream.”
“Nightmare, you mean,” she told him. “I’d have to have a stepladder to get up to where I could kiss you.”
“I could scrooch down,” he said.
It was decided that Bert and Jill would take four auto-teacher courses a day, two in the morning, two in the afternoon. That should be enough to divert suspicion. But between hours and in the evenings they would cram up on books in the National Data Banks. A few textbooks assimilated and they should be in a position to go deeper into the subject.
Jim was going to have to wait until his arm was healed before he could do his prying, but the inactivity worried him not at all.
Bert did a lead on the girl by waking, as usual, at dawn. He got a full course under his belt, German, before she appeared for breakfast. After breakfast, he got in another course, more math, before the door of the suite pinged. He took one of the green pills and went into the living room. Jim was sprawled before the Tri-Di set, a long drink in his left hand.
Bert said, in disgust, “Why didn’t you get the door?”
“I figured you needed a break, old buddy. Besides, it’ll be for you, not me.”
It was the inevitable Professor Marsh but this time he was accompanied by another, an efficient looking younger man Bert Alshuler hadn’t seen before. He carried a rather bulky case.
Bert said, “Doctor Smith, I presume,” and followed the other back into the living room.
Marsh didn’t bother to introduce them. He said, “We have a few tests to be made, but first let me give you your regular shots.”
“I’m beginning to feel like a pin cushion,” Bert complained mildly.
Marsh ignored him and began to bring forth the usual equipment. At the same time, his companion put his case on a table and opened it. It was full of shiny, sterile looking medical equipment. Bert groaned.
There were three shots from Marsh and then they sat him in a straight chair and the newcomer began taking blood samples, giving him injections, examining him for reflexes and in general giving him a checkout such as he hadn’t had since being hospitalized during the war.
Jim said to Marsh, “Hey, Doc, how about taking a gander at this wing of mine? I’m getting tired of stashing it in this sling.”
Marsh went over to him.
The technician said to Bert, “Have you ever had children?”
“I’m not even married.”
The other looked at him patiently.
“Not so far as I know,” Bert said. “I’m sterile.”
“Sterile!” Marsh blurted, turning as quickly as his plump body allowed. “Are you jesting?”
“No. Why not? One of those temporary deals. If and when I get married and want kids, I have another treatment. Latest thing in controlling the population explosion.”
“Oh.” The professor turned back to Jim. “You’re about healed up.”
Finished with Bert Alshuler, the two went on into Jill’s suite.
The following day, Jim Hawkins took off, after shucking his arm sling and securing a shoulder rig holster similar to that of Bert’s from the arms cache. He didn’t show up that night, nor was he present when Marsh returned, alone, the following morning.
Bert and Jill met at meal times, but otherwise continued their campaign at a punishing pace. The computers were giving her a somewhat different series of studies from Bert’s, evidently keyed to her own Ability Quotient. Both were making progress in their investigations into medicine and particularly those relating to the brain but were still not up to the most advanced studies.
At lunch the following day, even though Bert had taken his green pill, he seemed to note that the second hand of his watch was moving at less than normal speed. Ho checked with Jill’s and noted the same.
He grimaced at her. “You know, I think that some of this speeded up metabolism is becoming permanent. Not all of it, but some of it.”
“I think you’re right and I believe stimulated I.Q. is sinking in as well. It seems to me I can think faster and better even when I’m not on the drugs.”
Bert said thoughtfully, “We’d better watch it. God only knows what the end will be, but we’re in it now for the duration. I suggest that when others are around, possibly even Jim, that we deliberately speak slowly and move slowly.”
“Perhaps you’re right.”
There had been no more physical contact, nor any allusion to the incident of the other day, but there was a growing awareness between them. Bert disliked the situation, in view of his old friend’s feelings, but he was afraid it was getting beyond his control. From time to time when they were together he had to steel himself against physical contact with her. And he seemed to note an amused glint in her eyes, a slightly mocking quality that unnerved him.