But there were two dates he had traveled that weren’t on the accounts—one three years ago, and another only one year ago.
She remembered Pepe’s reaction, and didn’t tell him this time. She decided to wait until she had all the information she could get. That way, Pepe would only get angry with her once. It was quite reassuring to know how upset he could become at the thought of her being in danger. But it was also scary while it lasted.
The anger proved that, if nothing else, he loved her. So she shrugged it off.
Then, one morning, her secretary looked up as she came in, and said, “The chairman wants to see you.”
Alice stood stock-still, every nerve stinging at the thought of danger. “What about?”
The secretary shook her head. “Didn’t say. Just wants you to get in there as soon as you come in.”
It was wrong, Alice knew—he was bypassing channels.
And if it was all that urgent, his secretary should have called her at home. Prudence dictated that she turn around, go out, and get to Pepe as quickly as possible—but curiosity said she might gain some more information with which to hang the chairman.
She went.
Maude, his secretary, looked up and smiled when Alice came in.
“Good morning, Alice. What were you up to last night?” Instantly, Alice relaxed a bit, and smiled back. “Nothing but a good book.”
“Well, you are looking a little pale. Don’t choose such exhausting books, okay, dearie? You can go right in; His Nibs is waiting.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “What’s it about?”
Alice stared. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
“Hm.” Maude frowned. “Well, I don’t know everything that man has on his mind—but it’s rare, when it involves the help.” She shrugged. “Go on in.”
Alice flashed her a grateful smile and went into the chairman’s office.
The door closed behind her; the office was empty.
Alice frowned, puzzled, and started to turn . . .
A huge pain flared in her head, then was gone—and so was everything else.
An acrid reek seared through her head, and she snapped awake, coughing. When the racking subsided, she became aware of an enormous pain filling her whole head, but pulsing outward from a spot on the back.
“So sorry to jolt you from your slumbers with so bitter a smell.”
She looked up, startled, and the pain pulsed harder. She blinked away tears and saw, through a film of moisture, the chairman standing before her, immaculate in a gray pinstriped suit, fingers caressing a fob on the end of his vest chain. She sat in a pool of light, just barely able to see beyond the chairman’s form. She could make out plain stone blocks and nothing more.
“However, the matter is rather urgent,” the chairman went on. “I really could not wait for you to awaken naturally.”
Alice mustered her courage and tried to stand but jolted against bindings. Looking down, she was astonished to see that she was tied into a chair.
“Quite necessary, I’m afraid,” he said. “because you’re apt to try to move about rather violently when we commence.”
She stared up at him, the first feelings of terror blooming inside.
The chairman stepped up, caught her hand, twisted it over, and slammed it down on the metal arm. Alice cried out.
“Go ahead,” he urged her. “We’re quite alone—and quite far underground, beneath my office. Private elevator, don’t you see.”
He pressed the fob against her wrist and she felt a coolness. It wasn’t a fob—it was a hypodermic jet.
She stared at her wrist, numb, then began to feel very light-headed.
“There’s no point in trying to hold anything back,” he told her. “The drug is very effective. All I have to do is mention a topic and you’ll tell me everything you know about it. More than I want to know, probably. Now—Colonel Pepe Stuart.”
“I met Pepe at a friend’s house. He walked me home, and I told him how I was worried about the bubbles in the pig iron . . .”
On she went, and on and on—but inside, she was horrified to hear herself telling every detail about herself and Pepe, every detail. For once, she was grateful to him for not giving her anything terribly carnal to talk about.
But she babbled everything she’d told him.
“Me,” the chairman suggested, and she was off again, gibbering, babbling. She talked and talked, until it was all told.
Then, as she sat panting, the chairman’s eyes narrowed, and his face paled. He drew a short metallic stick out of a pocket and swung it at her temple.
Consciousness nudged her, and she thrust it away. But pain bored in, and she had to face the fact that she was once more aware. She was about to force her eyes open when she realized the chairman was talking.
“Those were not the terms of our agreement. You contracted to provide transportation away from Arista whenever I chose!”
A warbling falsetto answered him—Hothri speech. Over the trill came the vocodered words of a translator. “It is no longer expedient to arrange your escape.”
Carefully, Alice opened her eyes the tiniest bit, peeking through her lashes, and could just barely make out his shadow in front of a glowing screen—a screen that showed the image of a Hothri.
“Such an attempt would be detected,” the alien explained, “and it is quite possible that the ship would be eliminated. It could result in the deaths of several Hothri.”
“Then you must risk it!” The chairman’s face was red with anger. “You made a binding commitment!”
Even through the throbbing pain in her head, she felt panic at the thought that she was missing this. Summoning the tiny remnants of her will, she pulled with all her strength. The artificial arm tensed, strained—and the rope that bound it snapped apart.
The chairman didn’t notice. “You contracted for sabotage and information! In return for information regarding weapons research, your agent would deposit bullion in an anonymous account on Aries!”
“Such has been done,” the translator answered over Hothri piping.
Trembling, Alice brought her artificial wrist near her real fingers, and pressed the patch that started the camera. Then she pointed her index finger at the chairman and lowered the arm, resting it on her real one. She hoped he was in the field of view.
“What good are millions on Aries, if I cannot go there to draw them?” the chairman snapped. “In return for my assuring the production of defective weapons, you contracted to provide for my escape!”
“For your escape, when the Hothri conquered Arista,” the alien reminded him. “That event has not yet transpired. When it does, we will happily provide you transportation to Aries.”
“Yes, so that I can provide further services for you there! But do you not realize that I will not be able to do so if you do not remove me from Arista at once? The Navy is alerted to my activities; they will find some manner of proof! No trail can be covered completely! My transmissions to you must have been noted and logged, scrambled or not!”
“Come now, dear Chairman.” The Hothri was enjoying itself. “If you have been discreet, nothing can be proved.”
“Proof is not needed—only grounds for suspicion! They will remove me from office, at the least! I will no longer be able to aid you, in retirement!”
“That is regretable,” the Hothri admitted. “But if so, it is not in our interest to aid you in any way.”
“I have adhered to our agreement!” The chairman began to sound frantic. “I have produced as many defective weapons as I could manage! I have sent you word of every bit of weapons research undertaken!”
“You have indeed,” the Hothri confirmed, “but by your own admission, your usefulness is ended. You can no longer assure defective weapons, or provide information, on Arista; and surely, your disappearance here would confirm suspicion and negate your usefulness on Aries.”