Cartwright rubbed his grizzled jaw with the back of his hand. "Well, maybe you have a case. Maybe not. You're an interesting person, Benteley. What are you going to do, now that you've tossed off the rules? Are you going to take a fealty oath again?"
"I don't think so," Benteley said.
"Why not?"
"A man shouldn't become another man's serf."
"I don't mean that." Cartwright picked his words carefully. "What about a positional oath?"
"I don't know." Benteley shook his head wearily. "I'm tired. Maybe later on."
Rita O'Neill spoke up. "You should join my uncle's staff. You should swear on to him."
They were all looking at him. Benteley said nothing for a while. "The Corps takes a positional oath, doesn't it?" he asked presently.
'That's right," Shaeffer said. "That's the oath Peter Wakeman thought so much of."
"If you're interested," Cartwright said, his shrewd old eyes on Benteley, "I'll swear you on to me—as Quizmaster— with a positional oath."
"I never got my p-card back from Verrick," Benteley said.
A fleeting, potent expression crossed Cartwright's face. "Oh? Well, that can be repaired." He reached in his coat and got out a small carefully-wrapped package. With slow, deliberate fingers he unwrapped the package and laid the contents on the table.
There were a dozen power cards.
Cartwright sorted through them, selected one, examined it intently, then replaced the others in the package and wrapped them up tight. He restored them to his pocket and passed the single p-card to Benteley. 'Two dollars does it. And you can keep it; I won't collect it back. You should have one; everybody ought to have an even chance in the great game."
Benteley got slowly to his feet. He dug in his wallet and presently tossed two paper dollars down. He pocketed the p-card and stood waiting as Cartwright rose. "This feels familiar," Benteley said.
"You know," Cartwright said, "I haven't any idea how the oath goes. Somebody'll have to help me out."
"I know it," Benteley said. With Rita O'Neill and Shaeffer watching silently, he recited the positional oath to Quizmaster Cartwright and then abruptly took his seat. His coffee was cold but he drank it anyhow. He barely tasted it; he was deep in thought.
"Now you're part of us officially," Rita O'Neill said.
Benteley grunted.
The woman's eyes were dark and intense. "You saved my uncle's life. You saved all our lives; the body would have blown this resort to fragments.''
"Leave him alone," Shaeffer said to her warningly.
Rita ignored him. Leaning toward Benteley, her strong face avid, she continued, "You should have killed Verrick while you were at it. You could have. He was there, too."
Benteley threw down his fork. "I'm through eating." He got to his feet and left the table. "If nobody minds, I'll be outside walking around."
He strode out of the dining room and into the corridor. A few Directorate officials stood here and there talking softly. Benteley wandered aimlessly around, his mind in turmoil.
After awhile Rita O'Neill appeared at the doorway. She stood watching him, her arms folded tautly. "I'm sorry," she said presently.
"It's all right."
She came up beside him, breathing rapidly, red lips half-parted. "I shouldn't have said that. You've done enough." She put her quick, feverish fingers on Benteley's arm. "Thanks."
Benteley pulled away. "I broke my oath to Verrick; let's face it. But that's all I can do. I killed Moore—he was as soulless as he is bodyless. He's nothing but a calculating intellect, not a man. But I'm not going to touch Reese Verrick."
Rita's black eyes blazed. "Common sense ought to tell you better than that. You're so noble and full of ethics! Don't you know what Verrick would do to you if he caught you?"
"You don't know when to stop. I swore on to your uncle; isn't that enough? On paper I'm a felon; I broke a law. But I don't consider myself a criminal." He faced her defiantly. "Understand?"
Rita retreated. "I don't consider you a felon, either." She hesitated uncertainly. "Will you try to tell him what to do?"
"Cartwright? Of course not."
"You'll let him run things himself? Wakeman wouldn't let him. He has to run things; you can't interfere."
"I never told anybody what to do in my life. All I want to do is—" Benteley shrugged angrily, unhappily. "I don't know. Be another Al Davis, I suppose. Have my house and a good job. Mind my own business." His voice rose in despair. "But goddam it, not in this system. I want to be an Al Davis in some world where I can obey the laws, not break them. I want to obey the laws! I want to respect them. I want to respect the people around me."
Rita was silent a moment. "You respect my uncle. You will, if you don't now." She broke off, embarrassed. "Don't you respect me?"
"Sure," Benteley said.
"Do you mean it?"
Benteley grinned crookedly. "Of course. In fact..."
At the end of the hall Major Shaeffer appeared. He shouted at Benteley, faint and shrill. "Benteley, _run!_"
Benteley stood paralyzed. Then he jerked away from Rita O'Neill. "Get in there with your uncle." He yanked out his popper.
"But what-"
Benteley turned and raced down the corridor to the descent ramp. Corpsmen and Directorate officials scurried everywhere. He reached the ground level and ran desperately toward the balloon-wall.
It was too late.
A clumsy figure in a half-removed Parley suit blocked his way. Eleanor Stevens, red hair flaming, face pale, gasping for breath, hurried up beside him. "Get out of here," she panted. In the heavy unfamiliar suit, she stumbled over a supply-carrier and half-fell against the wall. "Ted," she wailed. "Don't try to fight him; just run. If he gets you—"
"I know," Benteley said. "He'll kill me."
At the entrance-sphincter of the balloon, a single high-velocity Hill transport had landed on the arid surface. Passengers were climbing out; a small knot of bulky figures was moving cautiously toward the resort.
Reese Verrick had arrived.
FIFTEEN
LEON CARTWRIGHT moved toward the entrance-sphincter. "You had better disappear for awhile," he said to Benteley, "I'll talk to Verrick."
Shaeffer gave rapid instructions; a group of Corpsmen came hurrying up, accompanied by a handful of Directorate officials. "It isn't really worth it," Shaeffer said to Cartwright. "He might as well stay here. He can't leave the resort and Verrick knows he's here. We might as well get this thrashed out."
"Verrick can just walk in here?" Benteley asked helplessly.
"Of course," Cartwright answered. "This is a public resort. He's not an assassin; he's an ordinary citizen."
"Do you mind being present?" Shaeffer asked Benteley. "It may be—difficult."
"I'll stay," Benteley said.
Verrick and his small group pushed slowly through the wide entrance-sphincter. Removing their suits, they glanced cautiously around.
"Hello, Verrick," Cartwright said. The two of them shook hands. "Come on inside and have a cup of coffee. We were eating."
"Thanks," Verrick answered. "Yes, if you don't mind." He looked haggard, but calm. His voice was low; he followed Cartwright obediently up the corridor toward the dining-room. "You know, don't you, that Pellig has left?"
"I know," Cartwright said. "He's heading out toward John Preston's ship."
The others followed after the two of them as they entered the dining-room and seated themselves. MacMillans had cleared the table; they rapidly reset cups and saucers. Benteley seated himself beside Rita O'Neill at the far end of the table from Verrick. Verrick saw him, but he gave no sign beyond a momentary flicker of recognition. Shaeffer, the other Corpsmen and Directorate officials, took seats in the background and listened and watched respectfully.