Cartwright gazed helplessly at Rita O'Neill. "Shall I go?"
"Here at Batavia," Wakeman said, "ships land thousands of people hourly; it is the functional centre of the nine planet system. But on Luna a human being literally stands out. You'll be surrounded by miles of bleak, airless space. If Keith Pellig should manage to trace you to Luna and come walking along in his bulky Parley suit, geiger counter, radar cone and helmet, I think we'll spot him."
Wakeman was trying to joke, but Cartwright didn't smile. "In other words, you can't defend me here."
Wakeman sighed. "We can defend you better if you're on Luna."
It was like talking to a child. Frightened, helpless, the old man had ceased to reason. Wakeman got to his feet and examined his watch. "Miss O'Neill will be coming along with you." He made his voice patient but firm. "So will I. Any time you want to come back to Earth, you can. But I suggest you see our layout there; make up your own mind afterwards."
Cartwright hesitated in an agony of doubt. "You say Verrick doesn't know about it? You're positive?"
"Better tell him we're sure." Shaeffer's thoughts came to Wakeman.
"We're positive," Wakeman said aloud, and it was a cold-blooded lie. To Shaeffer he thought: "Verrick probably knows. But it doesn't matter; if everything goes right Pellig will never get out of Batavia."
"And if he does?"
"It's your job to stop him. I'm not really worried, but I'd feel better if Verrick's Hills didn't hold the land on three sides of our Luna site."
Keith Pellig stood by Miss Lloyd as she seated herself in one of the liner's lounge chairs and folded her nervous hands together. He then sat down opposite her and glumly examined the ceiling. Miss Lloyd's cheeks burned. The nice-looking man was grim-faced and sullen; she repressed a desire to leap up and hurry downstairs to her seat.
Within the Pellig body, Ted Benteley was deep in stormy thought. While he was reflecting, the mechanism was switched. Instantly he was back at the A.G. Chemie labs.
It was a shock. He closed his eyes and hung on tight to the metal band that enclosed his body, a combination support and focus. On his ipvic-engineered vidscreen the scene he had just left glimmered brightly. The body cast a microwave sheet that bounced at close range and was relayed by ipvic along the control channel to Chemie in the form of a visual image. A miniature Margaret Lloyd was seated opposite a miniature Keith Pellig, in a microscopic lounge.
"Who's in the Pellig thing?" Benteley demanded shakily.
"Your friend Al Davis."
Benteley noted the position of a luminous switch button. "Which switch represents you?"
Moore ignored the question. "The switch will ignite your indicator a split-second before you're actually arced across. If you keep your eyes open you'll have warning."
"In this game of musical chairs who gets left standing up?"
"The body's not going to be blasted. It's going to reach Cartwright and destroy him."
"Your lab is already constructing a second automaton," Benteley contradicted. "When this one is demolished you'll have the second ready to be named by the Challenge Convention."
"If something goes wrong the operator within Pellig will be jerked back here before the body perishes."
"Will you really be hooked into this rig?"
"I'll be hooked in exactly like you."
As Moore moved restlessly towards the exit lock, Benteley asked: "What happens to my real body while I'm over?"
"As soon as you're arced out this stuff goes into action." Moore indicated the machinery that filled the metal chamber. "All this keeps the body functioning: supplies air, tests blood pressure, heart rate, carries off wastes, feeds, supplies water—whatever is needed."
The exit lock slammed. Benteley was alone in the machinery-crammed cubicle.
Benteley caught a glimpse on the screen of the liner and his heart constricted. The ship was getting near the sprawling Indonesian Empire, the largest functioning aggregate of human beings in the nine-planet system.
The screen showed the passengers of the transport preparing to land. There was always this moment of tension as a sleek liner set itself down; then the sigh of relief as the reactors clicked off and the landing locks rumbled open.
Keith Pellig and Margaret Lloyd joined the slowly moving crowd that pushed down the ramp to the passenger level. Benteley glanced away from them, to the outline of the Directorate's Batavia buildings. The landing field was linked directly to the main building grounds; the position of Pellig was indicated by a moving spot of colour.
But no spot showed the position of the network of telepaths.
Wakeman arranged for the C-plus rocket to be brought to the surface from its locker. He poured himself a drink, gulped it hastily and then conferred with Shaeffer. "In half an hour Batavia will be a cul de sac for Pellig."
Shaeffer's hurried response came back to him: "We now have an inferential report on Pellig. He boarded a regular non-stop liner at Bremen. Passage to Java. He's on his way somewhere between here and Europe."
Wakeman hurried to Cartwright's private quarters. Cartwright was listlessly packing his things with the aid of Rita O'Neill. Rita was pale and tense, but composed. She was going through aud reference tapes with a high-speed scanner, sorting those worth keeping. A slim, efficient figure with a lucky cat's foot dangling as she worked.
"Keep hold of that," Wakeman said to her, indicating the charm.
Rita glanced up. "Any news?"
"Pellig will be here any minute. Our own ship is almost ready."
Cartwright roused himself. "Look, I don't want to get caught out in space——"
Wakeman was astonished at the words, and at the thoughts he caught behind them. Naked fear had invaded the old man's mind. "The ship is the new experimental C-plus. We'll be there almost instantly. Nobody can stop a C-plus once it's in motion."
Cartwright grunted miserably and began pawing at his heap of shirts. "I'll do what you say, Wakeman. I trust you." He went on clumsily packing, but becoming stronger each moment was an urge to hurry into the reinforced inner office Verrick had constructed and lock himself in. Wakeman deliberately turned his mind from Cartwright's to Rita O'Neill's.
And got a shock. Hatred radiated from the girl's mind directly at him. He was taken aback by its suddenness; it hadn't been there a moment before.
Rita saw the expression on his face, and changed her thoughts. Quick, canny, she had sensed his awareness; now she was thinking of the aud tape humming in her ears as she operated the scanner.
"What is wrong?" he barked at her. "What's wrong?"
Rita said nothing, but her lips pressed together until they were white. Abruptly she turned and hurried from the room.
"I can tell you," Cartwright said hoarsely as he slammed at his battered suitcases. "She blames you for this."
"For what?"
Cartwright picked up his cases and moved slowly towards the door. "I'm her uncle and she's always seen me in authority. Now I'm mixed up in something I don't understand and I can't control. I have to rely on you." He moved aside to let Wakeman open the door. "I suppose I've changed, since I came here. She's disappointed, and she blames you."
The C-plus ship was up-ended on the emergency platform in the centre of the main building. As soon as Cartwright, his niece and the group of Corpsmen had entered the hull locks slid smoothly into place. The roof of the building rolled back and the bright noon sky blazed down.
Wakeman fastened Rita's belt and then his own. She said nothing to him but her hostility had melted a little. "We may black-out during the flight. The ship is robot-operated." Wakeman settled down in his seat. Sensitive machinery moved and high-powered reactors screamed shrilly into life. He relaxed and drank in the sleek purr of the drive as it warmed. It was a beautiful ship; the first actually made from the original model and designs.