Farr turned back. He climbed the ladder to the upper deck. There was silence except for the normal half-heard sounds of the ship—the sigh of pumps, the murmur of circulating air, the subdued mutter from the lounge.
Farr found the door with a placard reading Meritt and Anthea Andervieto. He hesitated, listening. He heard nothing, no sounds, no voices. He put his hand out to knock, then paused. He recollected Omon Bozhd’s dissertation on life, the infinity of avenues to the future… He could knock, he could turn to his cabin. He knocked.
No one answered. Farr looked up and down the catwalk. He could still return to his cabin. He tried the door. It opened. The room was dark. Farr put his elbow to the molding; light filled the room. Merritt Anderview, sitting stiffly in a chair, looked at him with a wide fearless gaze.
Farr saw he was dead. Anthea Anderview lay in the lower bunk, relaxed and quite composed.
Farr made no close inspection, but she was dead too. A shatter-gun vibrating at low intensity had homogenized their brains; their thoughts and memories were brown melange; their chosen avenues into the future had come to a break. Farr stood still. He tried to hold his breath, but he knew the damage had already been done. He backed out and closed the door. The stewards would presently find the bodies… In the meantime—Farr stood thinking with growing uneasiness. He might have been observed. His stupid flirtation with Anthea Anderview might be common knowledge, perhaps even the argument with Merritt Anderview. His presence in the cabin could be easily established. There would be a film of his exhalations on every object in the room. This constituted positive identification in the courtrooms, if it could be shown that no other person aboard the ship fell into his exhalation group.
Farr turned. He left the cabin and crossed to the lounge. No one appeared to observe him. He climbed the ladder to the bridge and knocked at the door of the captain’s cabin.
Captain Dorristy slid the panel back—a stocky taciturn man with squinting black eyes. Behind Dorristy stood Omon Bozhd. Farr thought that his cheek muscles tightened and that his hand gave a jerk as if he were twirling his viewer.
Farr felt suddenly at ease. He had rolled with whatever punch Omon Bozhd was trying to deliver. “Two passengers are dead—the Anderviews.”
Omon Bozhd turned both eye-fractions on him: cold animosity.
“That’s interesting,” said Dorristy. “Come in.”
Farr stepped through the door. Omon Bozhd looked away.
Dorristy said in a soft voice, “Bozhd here tells me that you killed the Anderviews.”
Farr turned to look at the Iszic. “He’s probably the most plausible liar on the ship. He did it himself.”
Dorristy grinned, looking from one to the other. “He says you were after the woman.”
“I was politely attentive. This is a dull trip. Up to now.”
Dorristy looked at the Iszic. “What do you say, Omon Bozhd?”
The Iszic swung his nonexistent viewer. “Something more than politeness brought Mrs. Anderview to Farr’s cabin.”
Farr said, “Something other than altruism brought Omon Bozhd to my cabin to prevent Anderview from shooting me.”
Omon Bozhd feigned surprise. “I know nothing whatever of your liaisons.”
Farr checked his anger and turned to the captain. “Do you believe him?”
Dorristy grinned sourly. “I don’t believe anyone.”
“This is what happened. It’s hard to believe but it’s true.” Farr told his story. “… after Bozhd left, I got thinking. I was going to get to the bottom of it, one way or the other. I went to the Anderviews’ cabin. I opened the door, saw they were dead. I came here at once.”
Dorristy said nothing, but now he was examining Omon Bozhd rather than Farr. At last he shrugged. “I’ll seal the room. You can sweat it out when we get to Earth.”
Omon Bozhd obscured the lower half of his eyes. He swung the absent viewer nonchalantly. “I have heard Farr’s story,” he said in a thoughtful voice. “He impresses me with his frankness. I believe I am mistaken. It is not likely that he performed the crime. I retract my accusation.” He stalked from the cabin. Farr gazed after him in angry triumph.
Dorristy looked at Farr. “You didn’t kill them, eh?”
Farr snorted. “Of course not.”
“Who did?”
“My guess would be one or another of the Iszics. Why? I have no idea.”
Dorristy nodded, then spoke gruffly from the side of his mouth, “Well—we’ll see when we put down at Barstow.” He glanced sidewise at Farr. “I’ll take it as a favor if you keep this matter quiet. Don’t discuss it with anyone.”
“I didn’t intend to,” said Farr shortly.
VIII
The bodies were photographed and removed to cold storage; the cabin was sealed. The ship buzzed with rumor and Farr found the Anderviews a difficult topic to avoid.
Earth grew closer. Farr felt no great apprehension, but the uncertainty, the underlying mystery remained: why had the Anderviews waylaid him in the first place? Would he run into further danger on Earth? Farr became angry. These intrigues were no concern of his; he wanted no part of them. But an uncomfortable conviction kept pushing up from his subconscious: he was involved, however bitterly he rejected the idea. He had other things to do—his job, his thesis, the compilation of a stereo which he hoped to sell to one of the broadcast networks.
And there was something else, a curious urgency, a pressure, something to be done. It came at odd moments to trouble Farr—a dissatisfaction, like an unresolved chord in some deep chamber of his mind. It had no direct connection with the Anderviews and their murderer, no link with anything. It was something to be done, something he had forgotten… or never known…
Omon Bozhd spoke to him only once, approaching him in the lounge. He said in an offhand voice, “You are now aware of the threat you face. On Earth I may be unable to help you.”
Farr’s resentment had not diminished. He said, “On Earth you’ll probably be executed for murder.”
“No, Aile Farr Sainh, it will not be proved against me.”
Farr examined the pale narrow face. Iszic and Earther—evolved from different stock to the same humanoid approximation: simian, amphibian. But there would never be a rapport or sympathy between the races. Farr asked curiously, “You didn’t kill them?”
“Certainly it is unnecessary to iterate the obvious to a man of Aile Farr’s intelligence.”
“Go ahead, iterate it. Reiterate it. I’m stupid. Did you kill them?”
“It is unkind of you to require an answer to this question.”
“Very well, don’t answer. But why did you try to pin it on me? You know I didn’t do it. What have you got against me?”
Omon Bozhd smiled thinly. “Nothing whatever. The crime, if crime it was, could never be proved against you. The investigation would delay you two or three days, and allow other matters to mature.”
“Why did you retract your accusation?”
“I saw I had made a mistake. I am hominid—far from infallible.”
Sudden anger threatened to choke Farr. “Why don’t you stop talking in hints and implications? If you’ve got something to say—say it.”
“Farr Sainh is himself pressing the matter. I have nothing to say. The message I had for him I delivered; he would not expect me to lay bare my soul.”
Farr nodded and grinned. “One thing you can be sure of—if I see a chance to spike the game you’re playing—I’ll take it.”