His filmed toad’s eyes went mildly around the room.
He didn’t see me. It was very clear that he didn’t see me. After he was through not seeing me he whispered something to one of the men; and the man snapped a finger for a waiter, and whispered to the waiter, and the waiter whispered back.
Albert Quayle smiled a toadish smile. ‘Oh, go on, live a minute,’ that smile said. ‘Live a minute longer, let yourself be sheltered by an Earthman’s brassard. But he won’t stay forever. And then you’re dead.’
And he was right, unless I found a way to handle it.
The first thing was to get Dunlap on my side. I had to show him what I was up against.
‘Order two more Scotches,’ I told him.
While the waiter was gone I whispered: ‘Listen close. You don’t believe that this business can kill me, do you? You don’t think that simply ignoring a man can be fatal? Watch what happens.’
He scowled, making almost as toadish a face as Quayle’s. ‘Hold on, Oliver! What are you up to? If you kill this guy Quayle or something-’
‘If I only could!’ At that moment the waiter came back. I took one of the glasses out of the waiter’s hand. He blinked only once at the remaining glass and calmly set it in front of Dunlap. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he apologized. ‘You wanted two scotches, didn’t you? I’ll get another.’
‘Now watch what happens.’ I took the full glass and walked straight across the dance floor.
Nobody bumped into me, though the band was playing and the floor was full. Nobody noticed that I was there. They danced neatly around a moving vacuum, named me.
I got to Quayle’s table and I stood staring at him for a second. The woman moved nervously, but no one else gave any sign that a man was standing within a yard of them all. I shouted loudly: ‘Quayle!’
There was no response, none at all. Only the woman blinked.
‘Quayle,’ I cried, ‘you’re a rotten, stinking murderer! You’re shunning me to death because I took your wife away from you!’
And I threw the liquor in his face.
He blinked - raw alcohol was in his eyes - but that was all I could see. I fell writhing to the floor.
That’s the conditioning, you see. The muscles are there, and the brain can think murder; but once the thought becomes act, even if it is less than murder, if it is violence in any form - then the conditioned reflex begins. Think of a white-hot, iron maiden from Nuremberg, with her spikes closing in on you. Think of an epileptic fit. Think of being boiled alive. Combine them.
Unfortunately I did not lose consciousness, though the room spun madly around me and I couldn’t see anything but a tortured giant’s face, mottled and furious, with the liquor sloshing down the bridge of his nose.
After a few minutes I painfully got up.
The dancers had been all around me, but no foot had touched me; every person in the room must have seen and heard, but there was no sign. The music was playing. The Terra Club was gay and laughing. I walked shakily back to our table.
Vince Borton was standing there, pleading with Dunlap for something; but his eyes were on me. ‘You damned fool! What do you think you were trying to prove?’
‘More Scotch,’ I said hoarsely.
Dunlap pushed one of his glasses over. He looked shaken. ‘That was the conditioning?’
I nodded.
Vince said, ‘You’re crazy, Oliver! Come out of here. I came to tell you something, but -’
I cut in: ‘Imagine what it would have been if I’d tried to kill him.’
‘I can’t,’ Dunlap admitted.
‘It would have killed me.’
‘It should have killed you!’ Borton blazed. (And while we were shouting, all round us the Terra Club was having a party.)
I said: ‘Vince. Please.... Leave me alone.’
Suddenly he calmed. ‘All right’ Then he said thoughtfully, ‘Listen. Funny thing. You know when you threw liquor in Quayle’s face?’
‘Yes. I know.’
‘But do you know what he did?’ He nodded, satisfied at my expression. ‘He started to go for you.’
‘But surely, that’s not strange,’ Dunlap protested.
‘It isn’t? After you just saw what happened to Oliver?’
‘Mmm. I see,’ Dunlap said after a moment, but then he shrugged. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You’ve convinced me. You deliberately let yourself in for that to prove a point, so I guess I have to say you’ve proved it. Now what?’
‘Help me, Dunlap.’
‘How?’
‘First I want to find Diane. I’ve got to. But I can’t talk to anyone, so you’ll have to -’
‘No he won’t,’ Borton interrupted. ‘That’s what I came to tell you.’
‘Tell me what?’
‘Where Diane is.’ Borton fingered his ragged cap. ‘I heard from one of the other nobodies. You know how it is - misery loves company. When somebody new gets shunned, we all know it right away.’
‘And Diane?’
He nodded. ‘Shunned. She’s over at the Wallow, on an island; and the water’s coming in, and she can’t get anybody to help her.’
6
Outside the Terra Club I said: ‘Now I’ve got him! Quayle’s in the palm of my hand!’
The hot fog closed in on all of us like a barber’s steamy towel. It seemed to make it difficult for Dunlap to breathe. He wheezed nervously: ‘What are you talking about?’
The doorman glanced at him with curiosity, then looked away. Borton was almost treading on the man’s shoes, but the doorman didn’t know he was alive.
‘I’m talking about Quayle! This is the end of the road for him, I promise you. I didn’t want to do this. But he doesn’t leave me any choice. Now that I know where Diane is, I’m going to blow the lid off. We’ll go get her, and then - it’s the end for Quayle.’
Dunlap clutched at his chest, knocking the brassard off his thermosuit. He bent and fumbled for it. When he stood up he seemed a little steadier.
‘How?’ he asked.
‘With a little help from the police, that’s how! Do you know what he’s been doing? He’s been smuggling steel knives to the saposaurs. Yes! I can prove it with Diane’s help. It’s our ace in the hole.’
‘But, look. What does that have to do with you?’
‘Everything! Why do you think we were shunned, Dunlap? He’s behind it. He’s afraid. Diane knew all about it. She had to. But she wouldn’t have talked. And neither would I, because that was the way she wanted it. But now -’
‘I know. Now you’re going to blow the lid off,’ he sneered.
‘You bet we are. Once we let truth out, he’s discredited - done. He’ll be a nobody then, not us. And then we can appeal our cases. The courts will listen. We’ll get the verdict reversed; they’ll believe me when I say I didn’t put the brassard on. The locals will let us off.’ I grinned as confidently as I could, although I was sweating even more than the hot fog could justify.
‘And the pity of it,’ I said, ‘is that Quayle didn’t have to have it this way. We were willing to buy him off if necessary.’
They both stood looking at me like saposaur chicks fresh out of the egg - puzzled, surprised, and ready for a fight.
‘Oliver, what the hell are you talking about?’ Vince Borton demanded. ‘You don’t have anything Quayle wants, except Diane.’