Verrick turned without ceremony to Benteley. "Always be where I can find you." He bit his words out contemptuously. "I don't have any more teeps around to thought-wave people in. I have to find them the hard way." He jerked his thumb at Eleanor. "She came along, but minus ability."
Eleanor smiled bleakly and said nothing.
Verrick spun around and shouted at Moore, "Is that damn thing fixed or not?"
"It's almost ready."
Verrick grunted sourly. "This is a sort of celebration," he said to Benteley, "although I don't know what we've got to celebrate."
Moore strolled over, confident and full of talk, a sleek little model of an interplan rocket in his hands. "We've got plenty to celebrate. This is the first time a Quizmaster chose an assassin. Pellig isn't somebody chosen by a bunch of senile old fogies; Verrick has had him on tap and this whole thing worked out since—"
"You talk too much," Verrick cut in. "You're too damn full of easy words. Half of them don't mean a thing."
Moore laughed gaily. "That's what the Corps found out."
Benteley moved uncomfortably away. Verrick was slightly drunk; he was as menacing and ominous as a bear let out of its cage. But behind his clumsy movements was a slick-edged mind that missed nothing.
The chamber was high-ceilinged, done in ancient wood panels, probably from some ancient monastery. The whole structure was much like a church, domed and ribbed, its upper limits dissolving in amber gloom, thick beams charred and hard-smoked from countless fires roaring in the stone fireplace below. Everything was massive and heavy. There were rich deep colors; the stones themselves were rubbed black with ingrained ash, the upright supports as thick as tree-logs. Benteley touched a dully-gleaming panel. The wood was corroded, but strangely smooth, as if a layer of cloudy light had settled over it and worked its way into the material.
"This wood," Verrick said, noticing Benteley, "is from a medieval bawdy house."
Laura was examining stone-weighted tapestries that hung dead and heavy over the lead-sealed windows. On a mantel over the huge fireplace were battered, dented cups. Bentely gingerly took one down. It was a ponderous lump in his hands, an ancient thick-rimmed cup, heavy and simple and oblique, Medieval Saxon.
"You'll meet Pellig in a few minutes," Verrick said to them. "Eleanor and Moore have already met him."
Moore laughed again, his offensive sharp bark, like a thin-toothed dog. "I've met him, all right," he said.
"He's cute," Eleanor said tonelessly.
"Pellig is circulating around," Verrick continued. "Talk to him, stay with him. I want everybody to see him. I only plan to send out one assassin." He waved his hand impatiently. "There's no point in sending out an endless stream."
Eleanor glanced at him sharply.
"Let's lay it on the line and get it over with." Verrick strode to the closed double-doors at the end of the room and waved them open. Sound, rolling volumes of light and the flickering movement of many people billowed out. "Get in there," Verrick ordered. "I'll locate Pellig."
"A drink, sir or madam?"
Eleanor Stevens acepted a glass from the tray passed by a blank-faced MacMillan robot. "What about you?" she said to Benteley. She nodded the robot back and took a second glass. "Try it. It's smooth stuff. It's some kind of berry that grows on the sunward side of Callisto, in the cracks of a certain kind of shale, one month out of the year. Verrick has a special work-camp to collect it."
Benteley took the glass. "Thanks."
"And cheer up."
"What's this all about?" Benteley indicated the packed cavern of murmuring, laughing people. They were all well dressed, in a variety of color combinations; every top-level class was represented. "I expect to hear music and see them start dancing."
"There was dinner and dancing earlier. Good grief, it's almost two a.m. A lot has happened, today. The twitch, the Challenge Convention, all the excitement." Eleanor moved off, eyes intent on something. "Here they come."
A sudden rustle of nervous silence swept over the nearby people. Benteley turned and so did everyone else. They were all watching nervously, avidly, as Reese Verrick approached. With him was another man. The latter was a slender man in an ordinary gray-green suit, his arms loose at his sides, his face blank and expressionless. A taut ripple of sound swirled after him; there were hushed exclamations and a burst of appreciative tribute.
"That's him," Eleanor grated between her white teeth, eyes flashing. She grabbed fiercely at Benteley's arm. "That's Pellig. _Look at him._"
Pellig said nothing. His hair was straw-yellow, moist and limply combed. His features were uncertain, almost nondescript. He was a colorless, silent person almost lost from sight as the rolling giant beside him propelled him among the alertly-watching couples. After a moment the two of them were swallowed up by satin slacks and floor length gowns, and the buzz of animated conversation around Benteley resumed.
"They'll be over here later," Eleanor said. She shivered. "He gives me the creeps. Well?" She smiled up quickly at Benteley, still holding on tight to his arm. "What do you think of him?"
"I didn't get any impression." Off in the distance Verrick was surrounded by a group of people. Herb Moore's enthusiastic voice lifted above the uniform blur of sound: he was expounding again. Annoyed, Benteley pulled a few steps away.
"Where are you going?" Eleanor asked.
"Home." The word slipped out involuntarily.
"Where do you mean?" Eleanor smiled wryly. "I can't teep you any more, darling. I gave all that up." She lifted her flaming crimson hair to show the two dead circles above her ears, lead-gray spots that marred the smooth whiteness of her skin.
"I can't understand you," Benteley said. "An ability you were born with, a unique gift."
"You sound like Wakeman. If I had stayed with the Corps I would have had to use my ability against Reese. So what else could I do but leave?" There was tight agony in her eyes. "You know, it's really gone. It's like being blinded. I screamed and cried a long time afterward. I couldn't face it. I broke down completely."
"How are you now?"
She gestured shakily. "I'll live. Anyhow, I can't get it back. So forget it, darling. Drink your drink and relax." She clinked glasses with him. "It's called _methane gale_. I suppose Callisto has a methane atmosphere."
"Have you ever been to one of the colony planets?" Benteley asked. He sipped at the amber liquid; it was strong stuff. "Have you ever seen one of the work-camps, or one of the squatters' colonies after a police patrol has finished with it?"
"No," Eleanor said simply. "I've never been off Earth. I was born in San Francisco nineteen years ago. All tele-paths come from there, remember? During the Final War
the big research installations at Livermore were hit by a Soviet missile. Those who survived were badly bathed. We're all descendants of one family, Earl and Verna Phillips. The whole Corps is related. I was trained for it all the time I was growing up: my destiny."
A vague blur of music had started up at one end of the chamber. A music robot, creating random combinations of sound, harmonic colors and shades that flitted agilely, too subtle to pin down. Some couples started dancing listlessly. A group of men had gathered together and were arguing in loud, angry tones. Snatches of words carried to Benteley.
"Out of the lab in June, they say."
"Would you make a cat wear trousers? It's inhuman."
"Plow into something at that velocity? Personally, I'll stick to plain old sub-C."