And there on the couch the daughter sat. Risa, the sexy little minx. She also looked different, older, shrewder, more predatory. They’ll devour me alive. Elena’s told them everything. I’ve been betrayed by all of them. Why is she doing this? Did Roditis turn her down? Why couldn’t he have bedded her? Why would he choose to antagonize her this way? Didn’t he see that by scorning her, he was inviting her to tell the story? I should have let him know that it was through Elena that I had gained access to St. John. But he hustled me off to be blanked while Kravchenko was still running me, and obviously Kravchenko didn’t tell him. And afterward there was no way I could, because I wasn’t supposed to know anything about the discorporation any more.
Kaufmann said, “I believe you’ve been in this apartment before, Mr. Noyes.”
“Well—”
“Recently. Last night, in fact. Isn’t that so?”
“Who gave you that idea?” Noyes said with his last shred of bravado.
“You came here late last evening in the company of Miss Elena Volterra,” Kaufmann said. “At your insistence she admitted you to the bedroom of Martin St. John. There, alone with him, you introduced a small but lethal quantity of a drug known as cyclophosphamide-8 into his metabolism, causing a speedy but horrible discorpor—”
“No!” Noyes screamed. “I didn’t do it! It isn’t so!”
“We have mindpick evidence against you.”
“You don’t! You’re bluffing!” Kaufmann said, “We have conclusive mindpick evidence of your guilt, Noyes. Enough to persuade the quaestorate to conduct a mindpick examination of your own memory bank, after which they’ll certainly recommend erasure. Of course, if you agree to testify voluntarily, and explain on whose behalf it was that you committed this foul crime, you may receive better treatment from the law.”
Noyes shook. Elena had told him everything, then. As he had expected her to do. He was trapped.
—Might as well make a clean breast of it, Kravchenko advised. “We’re prepared to recommend every leniency,” said Kaufmann in a soothing voice. “We understand that you were not acting as a free agent when you committed the discorporation of Martin St. John. If you’ll aid us in convicting the motivating force behind this crime—”
Of course, thought Noyes. That’s what you’re after, to nail Roditis! It figures. You don’t care about me any more than anyone else does.
He swayed. Waves of disorientation swept his brain. The world was spinning, the center did not hold, everything was shattering. Six Mark Kaufmanns faced him. Six Risas. His eyes would not focus. It seemed to him he heard Kravchenko’s vicious laughter, rising in volume, becoming a howl of triumph.
The flask of carniphage in Noyes’ breast pocket seemed to blaze against his skin.
Take it, he told himself. You’ve threatened to do it for so long — just self-dramatization, isn’t it? But now, this is the right moment. Pull it out, gulp it down. They’ve got you anyway. He talks of leniency, but he’s lying. You’ll be erased after you’ve been mindpicked. But at least you can save Roditis. There’s no solid evidence against him. Roditis is a bastard, but you owe him your loyalty, you always have, and if you drink the carniphage before Kaufmann gets anything out of you it’ll take Roditis off the hook.
—You’re a bigger fool than I think you are if you can worry about Roditis at a time like this, Kravchenko burst in.
Once again the persona had tapped his thoughts. The last time that had happened, it had signaled imminent ejection.
—Cook Roditis’ goose for him, Kravchenko urged. Tell Kaufmann everything you know. Why not? You don’t owe anything to Roditis except credit for wrecking you.
“No,” said Noyes. “I won’t.”
“You won’t what?” asked Mark Kaufmann. “I think he’s talking to his persona,” Risa said. “Look at his face! He’s cracking up!”
Noyes made a heavy gargling sound. It was beginning again: Kravchenko rising from captivity, uncoiling, filling his mind, grasping the levers of control.
“Stop it!” Noyes shrieked. “Let me alone! I won’t let you — get out of there—”
He was silent. Kravchenko said coolly, “If you don’t mind, Kaufmann, we’ll call this inquisition to a halt right now. I’d like to consult my lawyer. And I’ll answer the questions put to me by the quaestors, not by you. Is it understood?”
“It’s a different voice,” said Kaufmann. “A different persona. Calmer— the eyes—”
“Will you excuse me, please?” Kravchenko asked. “You’ve brought me here by abduction, and I intend to make you pay for it, but this kangaroo court is hereby adjourned. Don’t try to prevent me from leaving.”
He walked gracefully toward the door. Risa burst from her seat. “Dybbuk!” she yelled. “Don’t you see, the persona’s gone dybbuk right in front of us!”
The bedroom door opened. Elena appeared, pale, extending a quivering hand. She looked altogether confused. “Jim?” she said.
“Noyes? Which are you? What’s happening?”
“Quiet Elena!” Kravchenko said. In that moment Charles Noyes launched a desperate and instantly successful counterattack. Erupting from the corner of his own mind in which Kravchenko had penned him, Noyes sped through the neural wreckage within his skull, taking Kravchenko off guard. They grappled. Kravchenko, not as thoroughly in control as he had believed, was thrown from command, hurled down only moments after his brief triumph.
Noyes sagged to the floor and crouched there. “Listen to me,” he said, shaping the words with terrible effort. “This is Noyes again. Noyes. See, the right voice? He didn’t quite reach dybbuk. A good try, that’s all. Listen. Are you recording this, Kaufmann?”
“Every word.”
“Good. I’ve been an idiot. I’ve let everyone use me. But no more. My mind’s my own. Last night — Roditis sent me here. John Roditis of Roditis Securities. With orders to kill St. John. So that he could reapply for the Paul Kaufmann persona. I gave St. John a drug — cyclo — cyclophosphamide-8. I confess this of my own — free — will.”
He could not sustain even the crouching position any longer. Now he lay on his left side, half his body limp.
“I repeat: I killed St. John at Roditis’ orders. Mindpick Roditis and you’ll see it’s so. Two favors, please. Don’t let Kravchenko have another carnate trip. You saw — he almost went dybbuk.
Did go dybbuk, for a minute. And also — for me — no more trips either. Just sleep. I want to get off the wheel.”
I ought to utter a mantra now, Noyes thought. Go out with a flourish. Om mani padme hum. But why bother?
His hand went into his breast pocket. He felt Kravchenko fighting him, furiously trying to seize their shared body again. But Noyes held him off. His coordination was almost destroyed, yet he was able to get his hands on the beloved flask of carniphage, fondled so often, so sensually, his constant companion, his dearest friend. He brought it to his mouth. He bit down. The flask shattered and its contents spurted down his throat. Mark Kaufmann stared in shock at the writhing, deliquescing thing on the carpet.
“Carniphage,” he said thickly. “Risa — Elena — don’t look!” Elena had fled. But Risa was watching the process of decay with somber fascination. Kaufmann did not try to cover her eyes.
Surely Noyes must be dead. The inward rot was nearing the surface; his body was chaos. Yet still it moved, jerking and twitching as it traveled its one-way road to destruction.
Risa said, “Why did he confess? He was trying to be defiant at first.”
“He was showing everyone. Roditis. Kravchenko. Right at the end, he finally found a little strength.”
The limbs were flowing into shapelessness. The motions of the body were ceasing.