“Yes.” Tallon told her how it had happened. He had almost convinced himself she was a sympathetic listener when he suddenly thought of something. “If you knew your brother had medical supplies in here,” he said slowly, “why did you go out to the car for your own kit?”
“No reason. Force of habit. You know, you should be in bed with an injury like this. Why don’t you give yourself up and get proper attention before the reaction sets in?”
“Sorry. I’m going to have something to eat now; then I’ll tie you up, along with your brother, and be on my way.”
“You won’t get far.”
“Perhaps not. Does it matter much to you, anyway? I had an idea you and the Pavilion might be parting company after this little affair. Is that why you’re here now? Have you been sacked?”
“Detainee Tallon,” she said evenly, “escaped prisoners do not interrogate prison executives. I’ll make breakfast now. I’m hungry too.”
Tallon was mildly pleased at her reaction. He got into his uniform again, then took the roll of medical tape and bound Carl Juste’s wrists and ankles. The big man smelt of brandy. Tallon returned to the kitchen and sat in a chair, feeling the tingle of the tissue welder compound on his back, while Helen Juste cooked something that was so like ham and eggs he was almost certain it was ham and eggs. Twice, as they were eating, Carl Juste moaned and stirred slightly. Tallon allowed Helen Juste to go out and look at her brother each time.
“I told you he’d be all right,” he said. “He’s a big, strong boy.”
He made no further attempts to talk to her during the meal, but enjoyed the faint echo of domesticity he received from the act of eating breakfast with a young woman in the morning quietness of a warm kitchen, even though they were much more than worlds apart.
Tallon was sipping his fourth cup of strong coffee when he heard a scratching sound at the entrance door at the far end of the hall. The scratching was followed by a shrill bark Tallon recognized.
” Seymour!” he shouted. “Come in, you little phony. I thought you were dead.”
He went to the door ahead of Helen Juste and was almost embarrassed at the joy he felt on seeing the familiar brown shape leap into his arms. As far as he could tell from where Helen was standing, the dog was unharmed. Perhaps Seymour had made it to the gate and got through the bars inches ahead of the big hound. If the latter had inefficient brakes, it could explain the redness he had detected around its muzzle; and it was also possible that Seymour had been rocketing along fast enough to be out of range when Tallon had tried to pick him up on the eyeset.
Hugging the excited animal to his chest, Tallon reselected on proximity, and put Seymour on his number one stud again. Equipped once more with what were practically his own eyes, he turned to look at Helen Juste. She was as perfect as he remembered, still wearing the green Pavilion uniform, which accented her coloring. Her hair was a massive copper helmet, burnished laser bright; her eyes, still the color of whiskey, were looking past him, at her pale blue car.
Tallon had a strong hunch about that car. He went over to it and opened the door. A small orange light was winking patiently, low on the dash — on the radio panel, to be exact. The TRANSMIT toggle was in the “on” position, and the microphone was missing from its clip.
Breathing heavily, Tallon switched the radio off and went back into the house. Helen Juste was staring at him, white-faced but very erect.
“Full marks for resourcefulness, Miss Juste,” he said. “Where’s the microphone?”
She took it from her pocket and held it out to him. As he expected, it was the type that incorporated a miniature transmitter of its own in place of a wire connection to the main radio. He had been on the air for some time, no doubt on a police wavelength. Tallon had almost forgotten the automatic pistol in his right hand. He raised it thoughtfully.
“Go ahead and shoot me,” she said calmly.
“If you had thought I would shoot, you wouldn’t have taken the risk,” Tallon snapped, “so spare me the bit where you face the mouth of the cannon without flinching. Get your coat, if you have one here. We haven’t much time.”
“My coat?”
“Yes. I don’t trust myself driving your car. Seymour has an unfortunate habit of not looking where I want him to look, and at high speed that could be dangerous. Besides, it will do no harm to have you as a hostage.”
She shook her head. “I’m not leaving this house.”
Tallon reversed the pistol, weighed it meaningfully in his hand, and took one step forward. “You want to bet?”
As they were going out the door Carl Juste seemed to come fully awake. He gave several moans, each time a little louder, until he was almost shouting; then as his mind took over he abruptly fell silent.
“I don’t want to leave him like that,” Helen Juste said.
“He’ll have company pretty soon. Remember? Just keep moving.”
Tallon turned and looked back at Carl. He was struggling ineffectually with his bonds; his forehead glistened with sweat, and the blind eyes shuttled frantically. Tallon hesitated. He knew only too well how the big man was feeling after his long uphill climb from unconsciousness into a private black hell of sightlessness, helplessness, and hopelessness.
“Just a minute,” he said. He went back and knelt beside Carl Juste. “Listen to me, Juste. I’ve taken the eyeset back because I need it more than you do. Can you hear me?”
“I hear… . But you won’t …”
Tallon raised his voice. “I’m leaving you another identical eyeset, which needs only a new power unit to make it work again. I’m also writing out a full specification of the power unit for you. If you don’t let the police or agency men take it as material evidence, you should be able to get the eyeset working again soon. With your sort of money, it should be no problem to bend the relevant laws.”
He signaled to Helen Juste, and she ran for paper and pen. Tallon seized them and, still kneeling on the floor, began writing the specification. While he worked, Helen mopped her brother’s forehead and spoke quietly to him in a sad small voice that Tallon scarcely recognized. There was something deep and strange about their relationship. He finished writing and crammed the paper into the pocket of Juste’s pajamas.
“You wasted a lot of time,” Helen Juste said as he stood up. “I didn’t expect such …”
“Stupidity is the word. Don’t remind me. Now let’s move.”
The car was smooth, quiet, and fast. As Tallon had noted earlier, it was an expensive imported job of advanced design, with a gravity component engine that instead of propelling the vehicle allowed it to fall forward. Spaceships used similar power units in the initial stages of flight, but because of the difficulty of fitting them into a confined space they were rarely used anywhere else, even on aircraft. This meant the car was very expensive indeed. Helen Juste handled it with showy skill, broadsiding through the gate she had left open on her arrival, and taking off along the roadway with a prolonged burst of acceleration that sucked Tallon deep into his seat.
As the car swooped around a long curve, which blended into a motorway, Tallon held Seymour up to look through the rear window. Seymour was a little nearsighted, but there seemed to be specks in the southern sky, moving with the characteristic sinking flight of helicopters.
“Switch on the radio,” Tallon said. “I want to hear what crimes I’ve committed this time.”
They listened to music for half an hour; then the program was interrupted for a newsflash.
Tallon whistled. “That was quick. Now let’s hear how depraved I’ve become since my last public appearance.” But as the announcer spoke, Tallon felt embarrassed at his display of egotism; his name was not mentioned.