"But we're not letting it get around," Wilkes said to me in a stage whisper.
"I know," I said. "And I know about the antigeronics you're running into the Outworlds. Neat little scheme, and one hell of a big market to have cornered."
"Nothing gets past you, does it?" There was a sort of admiring awe in Wilkes' voice. "Go on, Darla."
"When we get back, I alert the dissidents to destroy all copies of the map. Anyone who has had anything to do with it will have to go underground, take to the road until the crackdown runs its course. The movement will be hurt, but at least the Authority won't get the Roadmap. Meanwhile, the secret will be safe with us."
"And what about Winnie?"
"She can be taken back to Hothouse and left with the movement network there. As far as I know, nobody knows about her yet, not even the dissidents. They may have the map,1>ut they aren't aware of its source. I can't be absolutely sure, but it's a good bet even Grigory never realized her significance. He never mentioned her to me."
"Hmm." Wilkes brought his palms together and touched both index fingers to his lips. "We have some problems here. Namely, you yourself are wanted by the Authority. If you're caught, you'd have a hell of a time explaining how you got back from a potluck portal."
"I won't have to. Nobody saw us shoot it, or knows that we did, except you and your partners."
"And Grigory."
"Grigory's dead."
"Do we know that?"
"I told you what happened on Seven Suns."
"Yes, and you haven't played your role as grieving widow very convincingly."
"You must know I signed a life-companionship contract with Grigory for other than personal reasons."
Vance said, "When everything is secured back in the Maze, Darla will come back here with me."
Wilkes brooded. "All very well and good, but still…"
Somewhere in the room, Sam's key beeped.
"Aren't you going to answer it, Darla?" Vance asked. "Only polite."
Darla took it out of her pocket, then threw it across the room to me. "He should," she said.
I picked it up and looked at Wilkes.
"Is there a camera on that thing, Jake?"
"Yes."
"Set it up on that table, will you please? And point it at me."
I did, and opened the circuit, then sat back down.
"Hello, Corey! Long time no see, and all that merte."
"Hi, Sam. Your son is our guest."
"So I gathered. What's up?"
"We want the Eridani creature."
"Uh-huh. Can't help you, Corey."
"That's tod bad."
"Sorry. These sailors down here ought to be able to tell you she hasn't shown up."
"They were posted after we learned about the girl. She could have brought the creature down before that."
"Girl?"
"Yes, the sailor-girl Jake recruited to help him hide the creature. Before we knew about it, we assumed Winnie ― is that her name? ― we assumed she was still topside with Jake. And then Jake dragged a red herring in our path. Nice touch." He turned to me. "Where in the world did you meet Hogan, of all people?"
"At a literary luncheon," I said.
Wilkes cackled. "Anyway. We still want her, Sam. And we're going to get her, or somebody's going to get hurt."
"Yeah, yeah. Corey, did anyone ever tell you that you were the slimiest piece of merte ever to get flushed into a plasma torch?"
Wilkes eyes flared. "Yes, several times, and in even more colorful language. Did anyone ever tell you that I was the one who had you killed?"
"You did? How?"
"Oh, it was beautiful. The people who got the contract assured me it was foolproof. The man driving the buggy that ran into you did it deliberately. He had special impact padding, all kinds of anticrash gear. An expert. No one even began to suspect it was anything other than an accident."
"Congratulations. So what?"
Wilkes mumped a fist into his chest in mock pain. "Oh, Sam, you strike even from beyond the grave. Here I am, maybe the first murderer ever to have the satisfaction of gloating to his victim after the fact, and I can't get a rise out of you."
"You're talking to a machine, you know."
"Am I? I've heard that an Entelechy Matrix transfers a person's soul to a machine."
"Soul, my ass. Look, let's lose the verbal sparring and get down to cases. Exactly what's going to happen if you don't get Winnie, as if I didn't know?"
"You don't know." Wilkes sighed. "Oh, well. Come on, Jake. I want you to see this." He rose and crooked his finger at me, walking over to the connecting door. He opened it and pointed.
I got up and walked over, robotlike. I looked into the room. My eyes were drawn first to the sight of Lori. She was naked, slumped in a chair in a far comer, under the wand's spell. Then my gaze drifted to the four Reticulans, Twrrrll among them. They were regarding me impassively, standing around a strange piece of furniture, made of black wrought iron, which looked like a cross between a table and a bed. The legs were fashioned into alien animal limbs, adorned with ornamental tracery exhibiting runic symbols. An elaborate headboard was executed in the same manner. Across the top of the table lay a network of troughs, not unlike the bottom of a roasting pan, with tributaries branching out to the edge and running off into gutters that would conduct blood, or any kind of body effluent, down to the foot of the bed, there to spill into two large copper pails. The pails were chased with more cryptic markings. To one side stood a much smaller table done in the same style, upon which lay an assortment of strange bladed instruments.
"Roadmap!" Wilkes whispered hoarsely into my ear. The electric tension flowed out of me and I went limp, swaying on my feet. "The Reticulans have always been hunters, Jake.They never lost the impulse, as we did. It's still the driving thrust of their culture. Interesting, don't you think? Long ago they depleted their home planet of 'honorable game,' as they call it. Then they discovered the Skyway. You'd think fifty or sixty new planets would hold them for a while. But the Reticulans are an old race, Jake. One of me oldest on this part of the road. Very recently, a few hundred years ago, they took to hunting outside their maze. They're feared and hated everywhere, as well they should be."
He craned his head around to whisper in my other ear. "Can you imagine what it's like to be vivisected, Jake? That's how the Reticulans will honor you, their sacred quarry. Unless you hand over Winnie, in which case I might persuade them to let you loose for a little while longer. They probably consider it a challenge to track you without the mrrrllowharrr."
He closed the hatch, then shoved me toward the chair. I sat down heavily.
"How much good will it do, Corey," I asked, "to tell you I don't know where she is?"
"None at all, I'm afraid," Wilkes said airily. He got a cigarette from a gold case on the table and lit it, blew smoke at the ceiling. "Your little girl friend says the same thing."
"What did she say?"
"She says she hid Winnie up on the poop deck in an unused radio shack. She went back later and the animal was gone."
"You don't believe her?"
"Yes, I do, but I can't believe both of you don't know."
"Winnie may have got frightened at something and run."
"Fine. Then Pendergast's people will find her eventually, and everything'll be wonderful. But I'm only giving you another hour, Jake. Then―"
"It's a big ship, Corey," Vance said, fiddling with my newly bought revolver. "Maybe we should give it a little more time."