Wakeman wrote desperately.
MOORE WILL KILL BOTH YOU AND CARTWRIGHT
Benteley's mind radiated amazement, suspicion. His thumb-gun came quickly up... bomb
Wakeman, panting for breath, sought a new surface on which to write. But he had written enough. Benteley was filling in the details himself—his fight with Moore, his relations with Eleanor Stevens. Moore's jealousy. The thumb-gun was lowered.
"They're seeing this," Benteley thought. "All the operators at their screens. And Moore—he's seeing it, too."
Wakeman leaped up and ran forward. Gesturing excitedly, trying to shout across the airless void, he got within two feet before Benteley halted him by an ominous wave of the thumb-gun.
"Stay away from me," was the thought Benteley radiated. "I'm still not sure of you. You're working for Cartwright."
Again Wakeman scratched frantically:
PELLIG SET TO DETONATE WHEN CLOSE TO CARTWRIGHT. MOORE WILL SWITCH YOU INTO PELLIG BODY AT THAT MOMENT.
"Does Verrick know?" Benteley demanded. yes
"Eleanor Stevens?" yes
Benteley's mind flashed anguish. "How do I know this is true? Prove it!"
EXAMINE YOUR PELLIG BODY. LOCATE POWER LEADS. TRACE CIRCUIT TO BOMB.
Benteley's fingers flew as he ripped at the synthetic chest and found the main wiring that interlaced the body beneath the layer of artificial skin. He tore loose a whole section of material and probed deep, as Wakeman crouched a few feet away, heart frozen in his chest.
Benteley was wavering. The last clinging mist of loyalty to Verrick was giving way to hatred and disgust. "All right, Wakeman, I'm taking the body back. All the way to Chemie." He leaped into activity. Realization that Moore was watching made his fingers a blur of motion as he inspected the reactor and jet controls, and then, without a sound, flashed the synthetic robot and ship up into the black sky, towards Earth.
The body had moved almost a quarter of a mile before Herb Moore sent the selector mechanism twitching.
Shatteringly, without warning, Ted Benteley found himself sitting in his chair at A.G. Chemie.
On the miniature screen before him Benteley could see the Pellig body hurtling downwards, racing over the scampering figure of Peter Wakeman and directing its thumb-gun. Wakeman saw what was coming. He stopped running and stood, oddly calm and dignified, as the synthetic body dropped low, spun, and then incinerated him. Moore was in control again.
In an instant Benteley was at the door of the cubicle, reaching for the heavy steel handle.
The door was sealed.
Back at the humming banks of machinery, he tore at relays, and there was a flashing pop as the main power cables shorted, sending up acrid fumes and bringing meters to zero. The door swung open, its lock now inoperative. Benteley raced down the hall towards Moore's central lab. On the way he crashed into a lounging Hill guard. Benteley knocked him down, grabbed his gun, turned the corner and plunged into the lab.
There he ended Herb Moore's existence as a living human being.
The effect on the Pellig body was instantaneous. It gave a convulsive leap, whirled and darted grotesquely, a crazed thing swooping aimlessly. All at once, as if Moore were putting some prearranged plan into operation, random motion ceased. The body moved in a purposeful circle and in a flash shot off for deep space.
On the screen, the Luna surface receded. It dwindled and became a ball, then a dot, then it was gone.
The lab doors burst open. Verrick and Eleanor Stevens entered quickly. "What did you do?" Verrick demanded hoarsely. "He's gone crazy. He's heading away from..."
He saw the lifeless body of Herb Moore.
"So that's it," he said softly.
Benteley got out of the lab—fast. Verrick didn't try to stop him; he stood staring at Moore's corpse, numbed with shock.
Down the ramp Benteley raced and plunged into the dark street. As a group of Chemie personnel streamed hesitantly out after him he entered the taxi yard and hailed one of the parked urbtrans ships.
"To Bremen!" Benteley gasped. He snapped his seat-straps into place and braced his neck against the take-off impact.
The small high-speed ship shot swiftly into the sky, and A.G. Chemie fell behind.
"Get me to the interplanetary flight base," Benteley ordered.
He wondered how much of his conversation with Wake-man had been picked up by the balance of the Corps. Whether he liked it or not, Luna was the only place that offered a chance of safety. All nine planets were now Hill-operated death traps: Verrick would never rest until he had paid him back. But there was no telling what reception he would get from the Directorate. He might be shot on sight as one of Verrick's agents, he might be regarded as Cartwright's saviour.
Where was the synthetic body going?
The flight field was manned by Hill personnel. Benteley could see intercon liners and transports resting here and there, and great hordes of people. Among the people Hill guards moved about keeping order. Suddenly Benteley changed his mind.
"Don't land here. Isn't there a military field near?"
"The Directorate maintains a small military repair field at Narvik. You want to go there? It's forbidden for non-military ships to set down in that area. I'll have to drop you over the side."
"That sounds like exactly what I want."
Leon Cartwright was fully awake when the Corpsman came running to his quarters. "How far away is he?" Cartwright asked. Even with the injection of sodium pentathol he had slept only a few hours. "Pretty close, I suppose."
"Peter Wakeman is dead," the Corpsman said.
Cartwright got quickly to his feet. "Who killed him?"
"The assassin."
"Then he's here." Cartwright yanked out his hand weapon. "What kind of defence can we put up? How did he find me? What happened to the network at Batavia?"
Rita O'Neill entered the room, white-faced and panting. "The Corps broke down completely. Pellig forced his way to the inner fortress and found you had gone."
Cartwright glanced at her, then back at the Corpsman. "What happened to your people?"
"Our strategy failed," the Corpsman said simply. "Verrick had some kind of deception. I think Wakeman had it analysed before he died."
"Wakeman's dead?" Rita asked in astonishment.
"Pellig got him," Cartwright explained. "That cuts us off from the Corps. We're completely on our own." He turned to the Corpsman. "Have you definitely located the assassin?"
"Our emergency network has collapsed. When Wakeman was killed we lost connection with Pellig."
"If Pellig has got this far," Cartwright said thoughtfully, "we haven't much chance of stopping him."
"Wakeman was handling it," Rita blazed savagely. "You can do much better. His brain was nothing compared with yours." As Cartwright produced a gun she continued: "You're going to defend yourself with that thing? That's all you're going to do?"
At that moment a Corpsman interrupted: "Mr. Cartwright, a ship from Earth has landed. Major Shaeffer was abroad with the remaining Corpsmen. He's coming up the ramp now."
Cartwright fumbled in his coat pocket for cigarettes. "Strange," he said to Rita, "that Wakeman is dead, despite his careful planning."
"I'm not sorry for him. I wish you'd do something instead of just standing there."
"There's not a lot left to do. If one man is determined to kill another there's not much that can be done to stop him."
"I think I liked you better when you were afraid.' Rita said bitterly. "At least I understood that."
"I'll make a concession," Cartwright said. "I'll sit facing the door." He settled gingerly on the edge of a table, his gun in his palm. "What does Pellig look like?" he asked the Corpsman.