"Let them hear me." Al stretched and yawned again. "I don't care."
"They might think you were a Christian."
Benteley got slowly to his feet. "Laura, I have to get going."
Al rose in amazement. "Why?"
"I have to collect my things and get them over here from Oiseau-Lyre."
Al thumped him on the shoulder. "Farben'll transport them. You're one of Verrick's serfs now—remember? Give the Hill traffic office a call and they'll arrange it. No charge."
"I'd rather do it myself," Benteley said.
"Why?" Laura asked, surprised.
"Less things get broken," Benteley answered obliquely. "I'll hire a taxi and load up over the weekend. I don't think he'll want me before Monday."
"I don't know," Al said doubtfully. "You better get your stuff over here as soon as possible. Sometimes Verrick wants a person right now, and when he wants you right now—"
'The hell with Verrick," Benteley said. "I'm taking my time."
Their dazed, shocked faces danced around him as he moved away from the table. His stomach was full of warm well-cooked food, but his mind was thin and empty, a sharp acid rind over—what? He didn't know.
"That's no way to talk," Al said.
"That's the way I feel."
"You know," Al said, "I don't think you're being realistic."
"Maybe not." Benteley found his coat. "Thanks for the meal, Laura. It was terriffic."
"You don't sound convinced."
"I'm not," Benteley answered. "You have a fine little place here. All the comforts and conveniences. I hope you'll both be very happy. I hope your cooking keeps on convincing you, in spite of me."
"It will," Laura said.
The announcer was saying: "... more than ten thousand already, from all parts of Earth. Judge Waring's announcement that the first assassin will be chosen at this session..."
"Tonight!" Al exclaimed. He whistled appreciatively. "Verrick doesn't waste any time." He shook his head, impressed. "That man really moves, Ted. You have to hand it to him."
Benteley crouched down and snapped the tv set off. The rapid procession of sounds and images faded out of existence and he rose to his feet. "You mind?" he said.
"What happened?" Laura faltered. "It went off!"
"I turned it off. I'm tired of hearing that goddamn racket. I'm tired of the Convention and everything about it."
There was an uneasy, unnatural silence.
After a moment Al grinned uncertainly. "How about a shot of booze before you go? It'll relax you."
"I'm relaxed," Benteley said. He crossed over to the transparent wall and stood with his back to Laura and Al, gazing gloomily out at the night and the endless winking procession of lights that moved around Farben Hill. In his mind a similar phantasmagoria of shapes and images swirled; he could turn off the tv and opaque the wall, but he couldn't halt the rapid activity in his mind.
"Well," Laura said finally, to no one in particular, "I guess we don't get to watch the Challenge Convention."
"You'll see review tapes the rest of your life," Al said genially.
"I want to see it now!"
"It'll be awhile, anyhow," Al said, automatically seeking to smooth things out. "They're still testing their equipment"
Laura made a short breathing sound and whirled the dinner table back into the kitchen.
Roaring water leaped in the sink; dishes banged and scraped furiously.
"She's mad," Al observed.
"It's my fault," Benteley said, without conviction.
"She'll get over it. You probably remember. Say, if you want to tell me what's wrong I'm all ears."
What am I supposed to say? Benteley thought futilely. "I went to Batavia expecting to get in on something big," he said. "Something beyond people grabbing for power, struggling to get to the top of the heap over each other's dead bodies. Instead I find myself back here—with that shrill thing yelling at the top of its lungs." He gestured at the tv. "Those ads are like bright shiny sewer-bugs."
Al Davis solemnly extended a chubby finger. "Reese Verrick will be back in the number One spot inside a week. His money picks the assassin. The assassin is under fealty to him. When he kills this Cartwright person the spot returns to Verrick. You're just too damn impatient, that's all. Wait a week, man. It'll be back the way it was—maybe better."
Laura appeared at the doorway. Her rage was gone; now her face was flooded with peevish anxiety. "Al, couldn't we please get the Convention? I can hear the neighbors' set and they're choosing the assassin _right now!_"
"I'll turn it on," Benteley said wearily. "I'm going, anyhow." He squatted down and snapped on the power. The tv set warmed rapidly; as he made his way out onto the front porch, its tinny scream rose in a frenzy behind him. The metallic cheers of thousands rolled out after him, into the chill night darkness.
"The assassin!" the tv set shrieked, as he plunged down the dark path, hands deep in his pockets. "They're handing up his name right now—I'll have it for you in a second." The cheering rose to an orgiastic crescendo; like the rolling waves of the sea, it momentarily blotted the announcer out. "Pellig," the announcer's voice filtered through, rising above the tumult. "By popular acclamation—by the wishes of a planet! The assassin is—Keith Pellig!"
FIVE
THE burnished wisp of cold gray slid silently in front of Ted Benteley. Its doors rolled back and a slim shape stepped out into the chill night darkness.
"Who is it?" Benteley demanded. The wind lashed through the moist foliage growing against the Davis house. The sky was frigid; far off sounds of activity echoed hollowly, the Farben Hill factories booming dully in the darkness.
"Where in God's name have you been?" a girl's clipped, anxious contralto came to him.
"Verrick sent for you an hour ago."
"I was right here," Benteley answered.
Eleanor Stevens emerged quickly from the shadows. "You should have stayed in touch when the ship landed. He's angry." She glanced nervously around. "Where's Davis? Inside?"
"Of course." Anger rose inside Benteley. "What's this all about?"
"Don't get excited." The girl's voice was as taut as the frozen stars shining overhead. "Go back inside and get Davis and his wife. I'll wait for you in the car."
Al Davis gaped at him in amazement as Benteley pushed open the front door and entered the warm yellow-bright living room. "He wants us," Benteley said. "Tell Laura; he wants her along, too."
Laura was sitting on the edge of the bed unstrapping her sandals. She quickly smoothed her slacks down over her ankles as Al entered the bedroom. "Come on, honey," Al said to his wife.
"Is something wrong?" Laura leaped quickly up. "What is it?"
The three of them moved out into the chill night darkness, in greatcoats and heavy workboots. Eleanor started up the motor of the car and it purred forward restlessly. "In you go," Al murmured, as he helped Laura find a seat in the inky gloom. "How about a light?"
"You don't need a light to sit down," Eleanor answered. She rolled the doors shut; the car glided out onto the road and instantly gained speed. Dark houses and trees flashed past. Abruptly, with a sickening _whoosh_, the car lifted up above the pavement. It skimmed briefly, then arched high over a row of tension lines. A few minutes later it was gaining altitude over the vast sprawling mass of buildings and streets that made up the parasitic clusters around the Farben Hill.
"What's this all about?" Benteley demanded. The car shuddered, as magnetic grapple-beams caught it and lowered it toward the winking buildings below. "We have a right to know something."