Or even a picture of Culla and Bubbacub at work! But where could he get a camera in the few minutes he had left?
There was no way to prove that Bubbacub was up to mischief, but Jacob decided that theory IIB had received a big boost. On a piece of paper he scribbled: B’S DUST OR WHATEVER… HALLUCINOGEN RELEASED ON BOARD SHIP? He threw it on that pile, then hurried over to the chief mechanic’s office.
The man grumbled when Jacob asked him to come along. He claimed that he had to sit by his phone and said he couldn’t imagine where a regular still camera could be found nearby. Jacob thought the fellow was lying but he had no time to argue. He had to get to a phone.
There was one set on the wall near the corner where he watched Culla and Bubbacub climb the ramp. But as he raised it he wondered who he could call, and what he could say.
Hello, Dr. Kepler? Remember me, Jacob Demwa? The guy who tried to kill himself on one of your Sunships? Yeah… well I’d like you to come down here and watch Pil Bubbacub do spring cleaning…
No, that wouldn’t do. By the time anyone got down here Culla and Bubbacub would be gone and his call would be another item on his list of public aberrations.
That thought struck Jacob.
Did I just imagine the whole thing? There was no sound of a vacuum cleaner now. Only silence. The whole thing was so damnably symbolic anyway…
From around the corner came a squeal, Pilan curses, and a clattering of falling machinery. Jacob closed his eyes for a moment. The sound was beautiful. He risked a peek around the edge.
Bubbacub stood at the bottom of the ramp holding one end of the vacuum cleaner, the bristles around his eyes jutting starkly on end, and his fur stuck out in a ruff around his collar. The Pil glared at Culla, who fumbled with the catch of the machine’s dust bag. A small pile of red powder leaked from the opening.
Bubbacub snorted in disgust as Culla scooped handfuls of powder together and then turned the reassembled machine on the pile. Jacob was sure a handful went, instead of to the pile, into the pocket of Culla’s silvery tunic.
Bubbacub kicked the remaining dust around until it blended with the floor. Then, after a furtive glance on all sides that sent Jacob’s head jetting back behind the wall, he barked a quick command and led Culla back to the elevators.
When he returned to the workbench, Jacob found the chief mechanic looking over the scattered sheets of his morphological analysis. The man looked up when he approached.
“What was that all about?” he pointed his chin toward the Sunship.
“Oh, nothing,” Jacob answered. He chewed on his cheek gently for a moment. “Just some Eatees messing around with the ship.”
“With the ship?” The chief mechanic came erect. “Is that what you were jabbering about before? Why the hell didn’t you say so!?”
“Wait, hold up!” Jacob held the man’s arm as he turned to hurry to “the Sunship cradle. “It’s too late, they’re gone. Besides, figuring out what they’re up to will take more than just catching them in the act of doing something strange. Strangeness is what Eatees are best at anyway.”
The engineer looked at Jacob as if for the first time. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “You have a point. But maybe now you’d better tell me what you saw.”
Jacob shrugged and told the whole story, from hearing the sound of the hatch opening to the comedy of the spilled powder.
“I don’t get it,” the chief mechanic scratched his head.
“Well, don’t worry about it. Like I said, it’ll take more than one clue to get this buttock-beeper placed.”
Jacob sat again on the stool and began scribbling carefully on several sheets.
C. HAS SAMPLE OF PWDR… WHY? DANGEROUS TO ASK HIM TO SHARE?
IS C. WILLING ACCOMPLICE? FOR HOW LONG?
GET A SAMPLE! ! !
“Hey, what are you doing here, anyway,” the chief mechanic asked.
“I’m chasing clues.”
After a moment of silence the man tapped the sheets at the far right of the table. “Boy I couldn’t be so coldblooded about it if I thought I was going nuts! What did it feel like? I mean when you went swacko and tried to drink poison?”
Jacob raised his eyes from his writing. There was an image. A gestalt. The smell of ammonia filled his nostrils and a powerful throbbing beat at his temples. It felt as if he had spent hours under the glare of an inquisitor’s spotlight.
He remembered the image vividly. The last thing he saw before he collapsed was Bubbacub’s face. The small black, eyes stared at him below the brow of the psi helmet. Alone of those aboard, the Pil watched impassively as Jacob lurched forward and fell to the deck senseless, a few feet away.
The thought made Jacob grow cold. He started to write it down but then stopped. This was too big. He jotted a short note in pidgin dolphin-trinary and threw it on pile IV.
“I’m sorry,” he looked up at the chief engineer. “Were you saying something?”
The engineer shook his head.
“Oh, it was none of my business anyway. I shouldn’t have butted my nose in. I was just curious what you were doing here.”
The man paused for a moment.
“Y’re trying to save the project, aren’t you?” he finally asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“Then you must be the only one of the hotshots who is,” he said bitterly. “I’m sorry I growled at you earlier. I’ll stay out of your way so you can work.” He started to move away.
Jacob thought for a moment. “Would you like to help?” he asked.
The man turned. “What do you need?”
Jacob smiled. “Well, for starters I could use a broom and a dustpan.”
“Coming right up!” The chief mechanic hurried away.
Jacob drummed his fingers on the tabletop for a moment. Then he gathered the scattered sheets and stuffed them back into his pocket.
18. FOCUS
“The director said no one was supposed to go in there, you know.”
Jacob looked up from his work. “Gosh, chief,” he grinned savagely, “I didn’t know that! I’m just trying to pick this lock for my health!”
The other man shifted nervously where he stood, and mumbled about never having expected to be involved in a burglary.
Jacob rocked back. The room swayed and he touched the plastic leg of the table next to him for balance. In the dim light of the photo lab it was hard to see straight, especially after twenty minutes of close work with tiny tools.
“I’ve told you before, Donaldson,” he said slowly. “We have no choice. What have we that we can show anyone? A patch of dust and a cockeyed theory? Use your head. We’re caught TwoTwo as it is. They won’t let us near the evidence because we haven’t the evidence to prove we need it!”
Jacob rubbed at the muscles at the back of his neck. “No, we’re going to have to do this ourselves… that is, if you want to hang around…”
The chief mechanic grunted. “You know I’ll stay.” His tone was hurt.
“Okay, okay.” Jacob nodded. “Apologies. Now will you please hand me that small tool over there? No, the one with the hook on the end. That’s right.
“Now why don’t you go over to the outer door and keep a lookout? Give me some time to clean up if someone comes. And watch out for that trip-fall!”
Donaldson moved away a small distance, but he stayed to watch as Jacob went back to work. He rested against the cool side of one of the doorjambs and wiped perspiration from his cheeks and eyebrows.
Demwa seemed rational and reasonable, but the wild path his imagination had taken in the last few hours left Donaldson dizzy.
The worst part was that it all hung together so well. It was exciting, this hunt for clues. And what he’d found out before meeting Demwa here supported the man’s story. But it was also frightening. There was always the chance that the guy really was crazy, in spite of the consistency of his arguments.