The two of them edged through the people and into the side gym, Rita leading the way. Directorate soldiers had stripped off their green uniforms and were tilting with magnetic fields, pressure beams, artificial high-grav steps, a variety of muscle-building equipment. In the center of the room an interested group was watching a Corpsman wrestle a MacMillan robot.
"Very healthful," Benteley said grimly.
"Oh, this is a wonderful place. Don't you think Leon has put on weight? He looks a lot better since the Pellig business ended."
"He'll probably live to be an old man," Benteley agreed.
Rita flushed. "There's no need for that. You can't really be loyal to anybody, can you? You're only thinking of yourself."
Benteley moved on; after a moment Rita followed. "Is Judge Waring going to make his decision with all these enthusiasts running around?" Benteley demanded. He had come to a raised web on which tanned figures were stretching out in the sun. "Everybody seems to be having a wonderful time. Even the MacMillans are enjoying themselves. The menace is past. The assassin has departed."
Rita happily took off her clothes, gave diem to a mechanical attendant, and tossed herself into one of the quavering webs. Low-grav counterfields released her body; she spun dizzily into the depths of the web and after a time emerged, breathless and flushed, clutching wildly for something to hang onto.
Benteley pulled her to a standing position. "Take it easy."
"I forgot about the low grav." Laughing and excited, she pulled away from him and aimed herself for a deeper section of the webs.. "Come on, it's fun! I never realized, before."
"I'll watch," Benteley said gloomily.
The woman's lithe body disappeared for a time. The web vibrated and bounced; eventually she emerged to the surface and lay stretched languidly out, the artificial sun gleaming from her perspiring back and shoulders. Closing her eyes, she yawned gratefully.
"It's good to rest," she murmured drowsily.
"This is the place for it," Benteley paraphrased Verrick. "If you have nothing else on your mind."
There was no answer. Rita was asleep.
Benteley stood with his hands in his pockets, surrounded by a blur of joyful color and motion. Laughing people romped by him; ceaseless games were started and restarted. In a corner Leon Cartwright was talking with a barrel-chested grim-faced man. Harry Tate, president of the Inter-Plan Visual Industries Corporation, was congratulating Cartwright on his successful bout with his first assassin. Benteley gazed at the two of them until they separated. Finally he turned away from the webs—and found himself facing Eleanor Stevens.
"Who is she?" Eleanor asked in a bright, clipped voice.
"Cartwright's niece."
"Have you known her very long?"
"I just met her."
"She's pretty. She's older than I, isn't she?" Eleanor's small face was frigid as metal; she smiled up at him like a merry tin doll. "She must be thirty, at least."
"Not quite," Benteley said.
Eleanor shrugged. "It doesn't matter." She started away suddenly; after a moment Benteley warily followed. "Want a drink?" she said over her shoulder. "It's so damn hot in here. All the yelling gives me a headache."
"No thanks," Benteley said, as Eleanor hastily scooped a martini from a wall-tray. "I want to stay sober."
Eleanor strolled along, turning the tall glass this way and that between her thin fingers. "They're about to start. They're going to let that stupid old goat decide."
"I know," Benteley said listlessly.
"He hardly knows what's going on. Verrick pulled the wool over his eyes at the Convention; hell do it again. Has there been any news about Moore?"
"Ipvic has their screen set up here, for Cartwright's use. Verrick doesn't care; he didn't interfere."
"What does it show?"
"I don't know. I haven't bothered to look." Benteley came to a halt. Through a half-open door he had caught a glimpse of a table and chairs, ashtrays, recording instruments. "Is that-"
"That's the room they set up." Suddenly Eleanor gave a cry of terror. _"Ted, please get me out of here!"_
Reese Verrick had moved past the door of the room.
"He knows," Eleanor said icily, as she pushed aimlessly among the laughing people. "I came to warn you—remember? Ted, he knows."
"Too bad," Benteley said vaguely.
"Don't you care?"
"I'm sorry," Benteley said. "There's nothing I can do to Reese Verrick. If there was, I suppose I'd do it. Maybe not."
"You can kill him!" Her voice was shrill with hysteria. "You have a gun. You can kill him before he kills both of us!"
"No," Benteley said. "I'm not going to kill Reese Verrick. That's out. I'll wait and see what happens. In any case, I'm finished with that."
"And... with me?"
"You knew about the bomb."
Eleanor shuddered. "What could I do?" She hurried after him, frantic with apprehension, "Ted, I couldn't stop it, could I?"
"You knew that night when we were together. When you talked me into it."
"Yes!" Eleanor slid defiantly in front of him, blocking his way. "That's right." Her green eyes glittered wildly. "I knew. But I meant everything I said to you. I meant it all, Ted."
"Christ," Benteley muttered. He turned away, disgusted.
"Listen to me." She caught imploringly at his arm. "Reese knew, too. Everybody knew. It couldn't be helped—sornebody had to be in it, didn't they? Answer me!" She stumbled after him. "Answer me!" she screamed.
Benteley stepped back, as a grumbling white-bearded little old man pushed angrily past him toward the antechamber. He disappeared inside the room and dropped his heavy book on the table with a thump. He blew bis nose, moved critically around examining the chairs, and finally took a seat at the head of the table. Reese Verrick, standing glumly at the windows, exchanged a few words with him. A moment later Leon Cartwright followed after Judge Waring.
Benteley's heart resumed beating, slowly and reluctantly. The session was ready to begin.
SIXTEEN
THERE were five people in the room.
Judge Waring sat at one end of the table, surrounded by his law books and tapes. Leon Cartwright faced the massive, ponderous figure of Reese Verrick, separated by two heaped ashtrays and an ugly pitcher of ice water. Benteley and Major Shaeffer sat across from each other at the low end of the table. The final chair was empty; Oster, the ipvic technicians, the Directorate officials, the Hill brass, had been barred. They were in the game room and the gym and basking around the pool. Through the heavy wood door of the ante-chamber filtered the faint vibrations of men and women at play.
"No smoking," Judge Waring muttered. He glared suspiciously from Verrick to Cartwright and back to Verrick. "Is the recording business going?"
"Yes," Shaeffer said.
The recording robot crept agilely along the table and took up a position in front of Reese Verrick. "Thanks," Verrick said, as he collected his papers and prepared to begin.
"Is this the fellow?" Waring asked, indicating Benteley.
"He's the one I came for," Verrick said, with a brief glance at Benteley. "But he's not the only one. They're all breaking their oaths, turning disloyal and betraying me." His voice trailed off vaguely. "Certainly not like the old days." He roused himself and quietly delivered his statement. "Benteley was dropped by Oiseau-Lyre. He was a derelict classified without a position. He came to me at Batavia looking for an 8-8 position; that's his class. Things were bad for me, at that time. I didn't know what lay ahead; I was thinking I might have to lay off some of my own staff. Anyhow, I took him on, in spite of my own uncertainty. I took him into my household, gave him an apartment at Farben."