The tall shadow bent toward him, inhumanly graceful, featureless in the gloom, laughing with a sound like water falling over rocks.
“Goodbye, old man,” it said. “You’ll get no more from me.”
Alper stumbled forward toward the corner where the shadow flickered and faded. His desperate cry echoed down the endlessly repeating tunnel. His flash swept to and fro over the empty corner where a moment before the shadow of a woman had stood.
Then the film ran out. The picture died and a square of blank white shimmered on the wall.
Sawyer shook himself a little. For those brief few moments he had been standing in the tunnel, hearing the rocks drip and the pumps pound. The illusion had been so compelling that he was almost startled to realize that the hotel room still closed him in and that the girl called Klai was watching him with anxious blue eyes.
“Well?” she said impatiently. “What do you make of it?”
Sawyer gave her one of his alert, quick looks. Then he walked across to the window and gazed out upon the noonday bustle of Fortuna in the dark. He got out a cigarette, lit it, blew smoke at the glass.
“I’ll tell you what I make of it. Not what you expect. I don’t think some mysterious creature from beyond the veil has persuaded Alper to sell his soul. The film’s very interesting, yes. The Commissioner will be fascinated by it. Faked or not, and you could have been deceived, Miss Ford, it’s still very illuminating.”
“I couldn’t have been deceived,” the girl said hotly. “I tell you, the film was never out of my hands. But—never mind that. Who is this Nethe? What do you think?”
“I think somebody’s going to great pains to get control of the mine,” Sawyer said. “That’s obvious. There are countries that could use more uranium ore than they’ve got. This seems like a very ingenious little scheme to take advantage of an old man’s obsession. It’s high time we put a stop to it. Do you understand what Alper kept saying about energy?”
The girl shook her head.
“I don’t understand anything. But I seem to remember—it’s like a shutter opening and closing so fast all I get is a glimpse before the memory blacks out. But Nethe—” She shivered. “Nethe frightens me.”
“This is the only thing you’ve filmed to date that shows any clear pictures?” Sawyer asked. “I’d like to get back to Toronto with whatever you have. I do believe you’re in danger. So is the mine. I want to start wheels turning to protect you. There seem to be all sorts of interesting possibilities.”
“I’ve still got some film running off, down below,” the girl told him. “Shall I get it?”
“I’d like to see what you have, but—isn’t Level Eight a pretty dangerous place?”
“I never go alone,” she said, turning to reach for her furs. Sawyer helped her into them dubiously.
“I’d better come along,” he said. “I’d like to take a look at—”
The door jarred under the impact of a violent blow. Simultaneously a thick voice from the outside called, “Open the door!”
II
Sawyer moved with silent smoothness toward the projector. With a few deft motions he freed the little spool of film, slipped it into its case, and dropped the case itself in his pocket.
“It’s Alper!” Klai said, darting panicky blue glances about the room. “He mustn’t find me here! He mustn’t know!”
Sawyer said, “Calm down,” and took out his key-ring. “I have a passkey here. I never like to get locked into rooms with only one exit. That door over there gives into the next bedroom. I’ll let you out. Wait for me. I don’t want you to go down into the mine alone. Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes,” she said, huddling her fur hood about her face. “Do hurry!”
Another tremendous thump upon the outer door made the windows rattle behind them.
“Sawyer!” the deep, thick voice from outside called imperiously. “Are you there?”
“Coming,” Sawyer answered in a patient voice. In a whisper he added, “Out with you, now. And remember what I said.”
He locked the door behind her scared departure, smiling at the desperate scuttle with which she crossed the next room toward the exit. Then he went back leisurely and opened the door upon which a third great thump was still resounding.
“Come in, Alper,” he said, mildly, politely, but his face tight with alert expectancy.
The man on the threshold filled the doorway from side to side. For a moment he stood there, leaning on his cane, peering up under his eyebrows. He was a troll, Sawyer thought. A thick, squat figure of an old giant who had bowed beneath his years until he could no longer move without his cane. The massive face sagged in deep pleats and folds. Two cold, small grey eyes looked up with singular dispassion at Sawyer under thick lids and thicker brows. A voice like a muffled organ said, “Do you remember me, Mr. Sawyer?”
He did not wait for an answer. He stumped forward and Sawyer fell back involuntarily. The man was so massive he seemed to push and compress the very air before him when he moved. The small eyes flickered once at the wall where the reversed picture hung.
“Get me a chair, Mr. Sawyer,” Alper said, leaning on his cane. “It isn’t easy for me to move around very freely. I’m an old man, Mr. Sawyer. Thank you.” Heavily he lowered himself, leaned the cane against his knee. “I see you’ve been enjoying a very interesting film,” he said, and watched Sawyer without emotion.
Sawyer said only, “Oh?”
“I watched too,” Alper told him heavily. “Does that surprise you? This hotel was built in the old days when uranium was top-secret material. Sam Ford and I eavesdropped on many an important conference in this very room. Nothing, perhaps, quite as important as what’s happening now.” He blew out his breath and fixed Sawyer with a compelling gaze.
“I am here, Mr. Sawyer, to make you an offer.”
Sawyer laughed gently.
“I was afraid you’d take that attitude,” Alper said. “Let me go into the case more fully. I’m prepared to offer you—”
He spoke in detail for perhaps sixty seconds. At the end of it, Sawyer laughed again, very politely, shook his head and then waited, looking alert. Alper sighed his ponderous sigh.
“Young men are such fools,” he said. “You can afford idealism now, maybe. When you get to my age, things look different.” He seemed for some moments to consider a private matter. Finally he shook his heavy head. “Don’t like to do it,” he murmured. “Still—” He reached into the pocket of his rumpled coat and held something out on a large, unsteady palm. “Take it,” he said. “Study it. What do you make of it?”
Sawyer rather gingerly accepted between thumb and forefinger a small, metallic, faceted disc about the size of an aspirin tablet. It was curved slightly on the underside. He looked up inquiringly.
“A little something of my own,” Alper said complacently. “A transceiver, actually. It transmits sound and it receives sound. But a very specialized sort of sound. I don’t know how familiar you may be with communication machines. One of the vital factors in any such device is the intensity of the internal noise of the receiving system. For instance, there is a constant sound and motion inside the human skull—the human body is such a communication machine. The heartbeat reverberates in it. The frictional whispering of blood moves through the arteries of the brain. The sound of breathing is loud in the passages of your head. Normally you are oblivious to these sounds. But they could be amplified.”
Alper leaned back and smiled. There was, Sawyer thought, distaste and dislike in the smile. Perhaps an old man’s jealous dislike of a young one.
“This device is such an amplifier,” he said.
The thing vibrated slightly in Sawyer’s hand, was still, vibrated again. Sawyer glanced at Alper’s hand, which had gone back into his pocket.
“You’re making it vibrate?” he asked. The old man nodded.