The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! )

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

FOYLE AWOKE IN DARKNESS. He was decelerated, but the exhaustion of his body told him he had been under acceleration while he had been unconscious. Either his power pack had run out or. . . He inched a hand to the small of his back. The pack was gone. It had been removed.

He explored with trembling fingers. He was in a bed. He listened to the murmur of ventilators and air-conditioners and the click and buzz of servomechanisms. He was aboard a ship. He was strapped to the bed. The ship was in free fall.

Foyle unfastened himself, pressed his elbows against the mattress and floated up. He drifted through the darkness searching for a light switch or a call button. His hands brushed against a water carafe with raised letteres on the glass. He read them with his fingertips. SS, he felt. V, 0, R, G, A. VORGA. He cried out.

The door of the stateroom opened. A figure drifted through the door, silhouetted against the light of a luxurious private lounge behind it.

«This time we picked you up,» a voice said.

«Olivia?»

«Yes.»

«Then it's true?»

«Yes, Gully.»

Foyle began to cry.

«You're still weak,» Olivia Presteign said gently. «Come and lie down.»

She urged him into the lounge and strapped him into a chaise longue. It was still warm from her body. «You've been like this for six days. We never thought you'd live. Everything was drained out of you before the surgeon found that battery on your back.»

«Where is it?» he croaked.

«You can have it whenever you want it. Don't fret, my dear.»

He looked at her for a long moment, his Snow Maiden, his beloved Ice Princess . . . the white satin skin, the blind coral eyes and exquisite coral mouth. She touched his moist eyelids with a scented handkerchief.

«I love you,» he said.

«Shhh. I know, Gully.»

«You've known all about me. For how long?»

«I knew Gully Foyle the spaceman off the 'Nomad,' was my enemy from the beginning. I never knew you were Fourmyle until we met. Ah, if only I'd known before. How much would have been saved.»

«You knew and you've been laughing at me.»

«Standing by and shaking with laughter.»

«Standing by and loving you. No, don't interrupt. I'm trying to be rational and it's not easy.» A flush cascaded across the marble face. «I'm not playing with you now. I . . . I betrayed you to my father. I did. Self-defense, I thought. Now that I've met him at last I can see he's too dangerous. An hour later I knew it was a mistake because I realized I was in love with you. I'm paying for it now. You need never have known.»

«You expect me to believe that?»

«Then why am I here?» She trembled slightly. «Why did I follow you? That bombing was ghastly. You'd have been dead in another minute when we picked you up. Your yawl was a wreck. . .

«Where are we now?»

«What difference does it make?»

«I'm stalling for time.»

«Time for what?»

«Not for time . . . I'm stalling for courage.»

«We're orbiting earth.»

«How did you follow me?»

«I knew you'd be after Lindsey Joyce. I took over one of my father's ships. It happened to be 'Vorga' again.»

«Does he know?»

«He never knows. I live my own private life.»

He could not take his eyes off her, and yet it hurt him to look at her. He was yearning and hating. . . yearning for the reality to be undone, hating the truth for what it was. He discovered that he was stroking her handkerchief with tremulous fingers.

«I love you, Olivia.»

«I love you, Gully, my enemy.»

«For God's sake!» he burst out. «Why did you do it? You were aboard 'Vorga' running the reff racket. You gave the order to scuttle them. You gave the order to pass me by. Why! Why!»

«What?» she lashed back. «Are you demanding apologies?»

«I'm demanding an explanation.»

«You'll get none from me!»

«Blood and money, your father said. He was right. Oh . . . Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!»

«Blood and money, yes; and unashamed.»

«I'm drowning, Olivia. Throw me a lifeline.»

«Then drown. Nobody ever saved me. No…No. . . This is wrong, all wrong. Wait, my dear. Wait.» She composed herself and began speaking very tenderly. «I could lie, Gully dear, and make you believe it, but I'm going to be honest. There's a simple explanation. I live my own private life. We all do. You do.»

«What's yours?»

«No different from yours . . . from the rest of the world. I cheat, I lie, I destroy . . . like all of us. I'm criminal . . . like all of us.»

«Why? For money? You don't need money.»

«For control . . . power?»

«Not for power.»

«Then why?»

She took a deep breath, as though this truth was the first truth and was crucifying her. «For hatred. . . To pay you back, all of you.»

«For what?»

«For being blind,» she said in a smoldering voice. «For being cheated. For being helpless. . . They should have killed me when I was born. Do you know what it's like to be blind . . . to receive life secondhand? To be dependent, begging, crippled? 'Bring them down to your level,' I told my secret life. 'If you're blind make them blinder. If you're helpless, cripple them. Pay them back. . . all of them.»

«Olivia, you're insane.»

«And you?»

«I'm in love with a monster.»

«We're a pair of monsters.»

«No!»

«No? Not you?» she flared. «What have you been doing but paying the world back, like me? What's your revenge but settling your own private account with bad luck? Who wouldn't call you a crazy monster? I tell you, we're a pair, Gully. We couldn't help falling in love.»

He was stunned by the truth of what she said. He tried on the shroud of her revelation and it fit, clung tighter than the tiger mask tattooed on his face.

«It's true,» he said slowly. «I'm no better than you. Worse. But before God I never murdered six hundred.»

«You're murdering six million.»

«What?»

«Perhaps more. You've got something they need to end the war, and you're holding out.»

«You mean PyrE?»

«Yes.»

«What is it, this bringer of peace, this twenty pounds of miracle that they're fighting for?»

«I don't know, but I know they need it, and I don't care. Yes, I'm being honest now. I don't care. Let millions be murdered. It makes no difference to us. Not to us, Gully, because we stand apart. We stand apart and shape our own world. We're the strong.»

«We're the damned.»

«We're the blessed. We've found each other.» Suddenly she laughed and held out her arms. «I'm arguing when there's no need for words. Come to me, my love. . . . Wherever you are, come to me. . . .»

He touched her and then put his arms around her. He found her mouth and devoured her. But he was forced to release her.

«What is it, Gully darling?»

«I'm not a child any more,» he said wearily. «I've learned to understand that nothing is simple. There's never a simple answer. You can love someone and loathe them.»

«Can you, Gully?»

«And you're making me loathe myself.»

«No, my dear.»

«I've been a tiger all my life. I trained myself. . . educated myself pulled myself up by my stripes to make me a stronger tiger with a longer claw and a sharper tooth. . . quick and deadly. . .

«And you are. You are. The deadliest.»

«No. I'm not. I went too far. I went beyond simplicity. I turned myself into a thinking creature. I look through your blind eyes, my love whom I loathe, and I see myself. The tiger's gone.»

«There's no place for the tiger to go. You're trapped, Gully; by Dagenham, Intelligence, my father, the world.»

«I know.»

«But you're safe with me. We're safe together, the pair of us. They'll never dream of looking for you near me. We can plan together, fight together, destroy them together. . .»

«No. Not together.»

«What is it?» she flared again. «Are you still hunting me? Is that what's wrong? Do you still want revenge? Then take it. Here I am. Go ahead. destroy me.»

«No. Destruction's finished for me.»

«Ah, I know what it is.» She became tender again in an instant. «It's your face, poor darling. You're ashamed of your tiger face, but I love it. You burn so brightly for me. You burn through the blindness. Believe me. . .»

«My God! What a pair of loathsome freaks we are.»

«What's happened to you?» she demanded. She broke away from him, her coral eyes glittering. «Where's the man who watched the raid with me? Where's the unashamed savage who…”

«Gone, Olivia. You've lost him. We both have.»

«Gully!»

«He's lost.»

«But why? What have I done?»

«You don't understand, Olivia.»

'Where are you?» she reached out, touched him and then clung to him. «Listen to me, darling. You're tired. You're exhausted. That's all. Nothing is lost.» The words tumbled out of her. «You're right. Of course you're right. We've been bad, both of us. Loathsome. But all that's gone now. Nothing is lost. We were wicked because we were alone and unhappy. But we've found each other; we can save each other. Be my love, darling. Always. Forever. I've looked for you so long, waited and hoped and prayed . .

«No. You're lying, Olivia, and you know it.»

«For God's sake, Gully!»

«Put 'Vorga' down, Olivia.»

«Land?»

«Yes.»

«On Terra?»

«Yes.»

«What are you going to do? You're insane. They're hunting you waiting for you. . . watching. What are you going to do?»

«Do you think this is easy for me?» he said. «I'm doing what I have to do. I'm still driven. No man ever escapes from that. But there's a different compulsion in the saddle, and the spurs hurt, damn it. They hurt like hell.»

He stifled his anger and controlled himself. He took her hands and kissed her palms.

«It's all finished, Olivia,» he said gently. «But I love you. Always. Forever.»

«I'll sum it up,» Dagenham rapped. «We were bombed the night we found Foyle. We lost him on the Moon and found him a week later on Mars. We were bombed again. We lost him again. He's been lost for a week. Another bombing's due. Which one of the Inner Planets? Venus? The Moon? Terra again? Who knows. But we all know this: one more raid without retaliation and we're lost.»

He glanced around the table. Against the ivory-and-gold background of the Star Chamber of Castle Presteign, his face, all three faces, looked strained. Y'ang-Yeovil slitted his eyes in a frown. Presteign compressed his thin lips.

«And we know this too,» Dagenham continued. «We can't retaliate without PyrE and we can't locate the PyrE without Foyle.»

«My instructions were,» Presteign interposed, «that PyrE was not to be mentioned in public.»

«In the first place, this is not public,» Dagenham snapped. «It's a private information pool. In the second place, we've gone beyond property rights. We're discussing survival, and we've all got equal rights in that. Yes, Jiz?»

Jisbella McQueen had jaunted into the Star Chamber, looking intent and furious.

«Still no sign of Foyle.»

«Old St. Pat's still being watched?»

«Yes.»

«Commando Brigade's report in from Mars yet?»

«That's my business and Most Secret,» Y'ang-Yeovil objected mildly.

«You've got as few secrets from me as I have from you.» Dagenham grinned mirthlessly. «See if you can beat Central Intelligence back here with that report, Jiz. Go.»

She disappeared.

«About property rights,» Y'ang-Yeovil murmured. «May I suggest to Presteign that Central Intelligence will guarantee full payment to him for his right, title, and interest in PyrE?»

«Don't coddle him, Yeovil.»

«This conference is being recorded,» Presteign said, coldly. «The Captain's offer is now on file.» He turned his basilisk face to Dagenham. «You are in my employ, Mr. Dagenham. Please control your references to myself.»

«And to your property?» Dagenham inquired with a deadly smile. «You and your damned property. All of you and all of your damned property have put us in this hole. The system's on the edge of total annihilation for the sake of your property. I'm not exaggerating. It will be a shooting war to end all wars if we can't stop it.»

«We can always surrender,» Presteign answered.

«No,» Y'ang-Yeovil said. «That's already been discussed and discarded at HQ. We know the post-victory plans of the Outer Satellites. They involve total exploitation of the Inner Planets. We're to be gutted and worked until nothing's left. Surrender would be as disastrous as defeat.»

«But not for Presteign,» Dagenham added.

«Shall we say .. . present company excluded?» Y'ang-Yeovil replied gracefully.

«All right, Presteign,» Dagenham swiveled in his chair. «Give.»

«I beg your pardon, sir?»

«Let's hear all about PyrE. I've got an idea how we can bring Foyle out into the open and locate the stuff, but I've got to know all about it first. Make your contribution.»

«No,» Presteign answered.

«No, what?»

«I have decided to withdraw from this information pool. I will reveal nothing about PyrE.»

«For God's sake, Presteign! Are you insane? What's got into you? Are you fighting Regis Sheffield's Liberal party again?»

«It's quite simple, Dagenham,» Y'ang-Yeovil interposed. «My information about the surrender-defeat situation has shown Presteign a way to better his position. No doubt he intends negotiating a sale to the enemy in return for. . . property advantages.»

«Can nothing move you?» Dagenham asked Presteign scornfully. «Can nothing touch you? Are you all property and nothing else? Go away, Jiz! The whole thing's fallen apart.»

Jisbella had jaunted into the Star Chamber again. «Commando Brigade's reported,» she said. «We know what happened to Foyle.»

«What?»

«Presteign's got him.»

«What!» Both Dagenham and Y'ang-Yeovil started to their feet.

«He left Mars in a private yawl, was shot up, and was observed being picked up by the Presteign S.S. 'Vorga.»

«Damn you, Presteign,» Dagenham snapped. «So that's why you've been…”

«Wait,» Y'ang-Yeovil commanded. «It's news to him too, Dagenham. Look at him.»

Presteign's handsome face had gone the color of ashes. He tried to rise and fell back stiffly in his chair. «Olivia . . .» he whispered. «With him…That scum . . .»

«Presteign?»

«My daughter, gentlemen, has . . .for some time been engaged in certain activities. The family vice. Blood and…I . . . have managed to close my eyes to it . . . Had almost convinced myself that I was mistaken. I . . . But Foyle! Dirt! Filth! He must be destroyed!» Presteign's voice soared alarmingly. His head twisted back like a hanged man's and his body began to shudder.

«What in the…?»

«Epilepsy,» Y'ang-Yeovil said. He pulled Presteign out of the chair onto the floor. «A spoon, Miss McQueen. Quick!» He levered Presteign's teeth open and placed a spoon between them to protect the tongue. As suddenly as it had begun, the seizure was over. The shuddering stopped. Presteign opened his eyes.

«Petit ma1,» Y'ang-Yeovil murmured, withdrawing the spoon. «But he'll be dazed for a while.»

Suddenly Presteign began speaking in a low monotone. «PyrE is a pyrophoric alloy. A pyrophore is a metal which emits sparks when scraped or struck. PyrE emits energy, which is why E, the energy symbol, was added to the prefix Pyr. PyrE is a solid solution of transplutonian isotopes, releasing thermonuclear energy on the order of stellar Phoenix action. It's discoverer was of the opinion that he had produced the equivalent of the primordial protomatter which exploded into the Universe.»

«My God!» Jisbella exclaimed.

Dagenham silenced her with a gesture and bent over Presteign. «How is it brought to critical mass, Presteign? How is the energy released?»

«As the original energy was generated in the beginning of time,» Presteign droned. «Through Will and Idea.»

«I'm convinced he's a Cellar Christian,» Dagenham muttered to Y'angYeovil. He raised his voice. «Will you explain, Presteign?»

«Through Will and Idea,» Presteign repeated. «PyrE can only be exploded by psychokinesis. Its energy can only be released by thought. It must be willed to explode and the thought directed at it. That is the only way.»

«There's no key? No formula?»

«No. Only Will and Idea are necessary.» The glazed eyes closed.

«God in heaven!» Dagenham mopped his brow. «Will this give the Outer Satellites pause, Yeovil?»

«It'll give us all pause.»

«It's the road to hell,» Jisbella said.

«Then let's find it and get off the road. Here's my idea, Yeovil. Foyle was tinkering with that hell brew in his lab in Old St. Pat's, trying to analyze it.»

«I told you that in strict confidence,» Jisbella said furiously.

«I'm sorry, dear. We're past honor and the decencies. Now look, Yeovil, there must be some fragments of the stuff lying about. . . as dust, in solution, in precipitates. . . We've got to detonate those fragments and blow the hell out of Foyle's circus.»

«Why?»

«To bring him running. He must have the bulk of the PyrE hidden there somewhere. He'll come to salvage it.»

«What if it blows up too?»

«It can't, not inside an Inert Lead Isotope safe.»

«Maybe it's not all inside.»

«Jiz says it is . . .at least so Foyle reported.»

«Leave me out of this,» Jisbella said.

«Anyway, we'll have to gamble.»

«Gamble!» Y'ang-Yeovil exclaimed. «On a Phoenix action? You'll gamble the solar system into a brand new nova.»

«What else can we do? Pick any other road . . and it's the road to destruction too. Have we got any choice?»

«We can wait,» Jisbella said.

«For what? For Foyle to blow us up himself with his tinkering?»

«We can warn him.»

«We don't know where he is.»

«We can find him.»

«How soon? Won't that be a gamble too? And what about that stuff lying around waiting for someone to think it into energy? Suppose a Jack-jaunter gets in and cracks the safe, looking for goodies? And then we don't just have dust waiting for an accidental thought, but twenty pounds.»

Jisbella turned pale. Dagenham turned to the Intelligence man. «You make the decision, Yeovil. Do we try it my way or do we wait?»

Y'ang-Yeovil sighed. «I was afraid of this,» he said. «Damn all scientists. I'll have to make my decision for a reason you don't know, Dagenham. The Outer Satellites are on to this too. We've got reason to believe that they've got agents looking for Foyle in the worst way. If we wait they may pick him up before us. In fact, they may have him now.»

«So your decision is . . .”

«The blow-up. Let's bring Foyle running if we can.»

«No!» Jisbella cried.

«How?» Dagenham asked, ignoring her.

«Oh, I've got just the one for the job. A one-way telepath named Robin Wednesbury.»

«When?»

«At once. We'll clear the entire neighborhood. We'll get full news coverage and do a full broadcast. If Foyle's anywhere in the Inner Planets, he'll hear about it.»

«Not about it,» Jisbella said in despair. «He'll hear it. It'll be the last thing any of us hear.»

«Will and Idea,» Presteign whispered.

As always, when he returned from a stormy civil court session in Leningrad, Regis Sheffield was pleased and complacent, rather like a cocky prizefighter who's won a tough fight. He stopped off at Blekmann's in Berlin for a drink and some war talk, had a second and more war talk in a legal hangout on the Quai D'Orsay, and a third session in the Skin amp; Bones opposite Temple Bar. By the time he arrived in his New York office he was pleasantly illuminated.

As he strode through the clattering corridors and outer rooms, he was greeted by his secretary with a handful of memo-beads.

«Knocked Djargo-Dantchenko for a loop,» Sheffield reported triumphantly. «Judgment and full damages. Old DD's sore as a boil. This makes the score eleven to five, my favor.» He took the beads, juggled them, and then began tossing them into unlikely receptacles all over the office, including the open mouth of a gaping clerk.

«Really, Mr. Sheffield! Have you been drinking?»

«No more work today. The war news is too damned gloomy. Have to do something to stay cheerful. What say we brawl in the streets?»

«Mr. Sheffield!»

«Anything waiting for me that can't wait another day?»

«There's a gentleman in your office.»

«He made you let him get that far?» Sheffield looked impressed. «Who is he? God, or somebody?»

«He won't give his name. He gave me this.»

The secretary handed Sheffield a sealed envelope. On it was scrawled:

«URGENT.» Sheffield tore it open, his blunt features crinkling with curiosity. Then his eyes widened. Inside the envelope were two ~r 50,000 notes. Sheffield turned without a word and burst into his private office. Foyle arose from his chair.

«These are genuine,» Sheffield blurted.

«To the best of my knowledge.»

«Exactly twenty of these notes were minted last year. All are on deposit in Terran treasuries. How did you get hold of these two?»

«Mr. Sheffield?»

«Who else? How did you get hold of these notes?»

«Bribery.»

«Why?»

«I thought at the time that it might be convenient to have them available.»

«For what? More bribery?»

«If legal fees are bribery.»

«I set my own fees,» Sheffield said. He tossed the notes back to Foyle. «You can produce them again if I decide to take your case and if I decide I've been worth that to you. What's your problem?»

«Criminal.»

«Don't be too specific yet. And . . .

«I want to give myself up.»

«To the police?»

«Yes.»

«For what crime?»

«Crimes.»

«Name two.»

«Robbery and rape.»

«Name two more.»

«Blackmail and murder.»

«Any other items?»

«Treason and genocide.»

«Does that exhaust your catalogue?»

«I think so. We may be able to unveil a few more when we get specific.»

«Been busy, haven't you? Either you're the Prince of Villains or insane.»

«I've been both, Mr. Sheffield.»

«Why do you want to give yourself up?»

«I've come to my senses,» Foyle answered bitterly.

«I don't mean that. A criminal never surrenders while he's ahead. You're obviously ahead. What's the reason?»

«The most damnable thing that ever happened to a man. I picked up a rare disease called conscience.»

Sheffield snorted. «That can often turn fatal.»

«It is fatal. I've realized that I've been behaving like an animal.»

«And now you want to purge yourself?»

«No, it isn't that simple,» Foyle said grimly. «That's why I've come to you . . for major surgery. The man who upsets the morphology of society is a cancer. The man who gives his own decisions priority over society is a criminal. But there are chain reactions. Purging yourself with punishment isn't enough. Everything's got to be set right. I wish to God everything could be cured just by sending me back to Gouffre Martel or shooting me. . .»

«Back?» Sheffield cut in keenly.

«Shall I be specific?»

«Not yet. Go on. You sound as though you've got ethical growing pains.»

«That's it exactly.» Foyle paced in agitation, crumpling the banknotes with nervous fingers. «This is one hell of a mess, Sheffield. There's a girl that's got to pay for a vicious, rotten crime. The fact that I love her…No, never mind that. She has a cancer that's got to be cut out . . . like me. Which means I'll have to add informing to my catalogue. The fact that I'm giving myself up too doesn't make any difference.»

«What is all this mish-mash?»

Foyle turned on Sheffield. «One of the New Year's bombs has just walked into your office, and it's saying: 'Put it all right. Put me together again and send me home. Put together the city I flattened and the people I shattered.' That's what I want to hire you for. I don't know how most criminals feel, but…”

«Sensible, matter-of-fact, like good businessmen who've had bad luck,» Sheffield answered promptly. «That's the usual attitude of the professional criminal. It's obvious you're an amateur, if you're a criminal at all. My dear sir, do be sensible. You come here, extravagantly accusing yourself of robbery, rape, murder, genocide, treason, and God knows what else. D'you expect me to take you seriously?»

Bunny, Sheffield's assistant, jaunted into the private office. «Chief!» he shouted in excitement. «Something brand new's turned up. A lech-jaunte! Two society kids bribed a C-class tart to…Ooop. Sorry. Didn't realize you had…” Bunny broke off and stared. «Fourmyle!» he exclaimed.

«What? Who?» Sheffield demanded.

«Don't you know him, Chief?» Bunny stammered. «That's Fourmyle of Ceres, Gully Foyle.»

More than a year ago, Regis Sheffield had been hypnotically fulminated and triggered for this moment. His body had been prepared to respond without thought, and the response was lightning. Sheffield struck Foyle in half a second; temple, throat and groin. It had been decided not to depend on weapons since none might be available.

Foyle fell. Sheffield turned on Bunny and battered him back across the office. Then he spat into his palm. It had been decided not to depend on drugs'since drugs might not be available. Sheffield's salivary glands had been prepared to respond with an anaphylaxis secretion to the stimulus. He ripped open Foyle's sleeve, dug a nail deep into the hollow of Foyle's elbow and slashed. He pressed his spittle into the ragged cut and pinched the skin together.

A strange cry was torn from Foyle's lips; the tattooing showed livid on his face. Before the stunned law assistant could make a move, Sheffield swung Foyle up to his shoulder and jaunted.

He arrived in the middle of the Four Mile Circus in Old St. Pat's. It was a daring but calculated move. This was the last place he would be expected to go, and the first place where he might expect to locate the PyrE. He was prepared to deal with anyone he might meet in the cathedral, but the interior of the circus was empty.

The vacant tents ballooning up in the nave looked tattered; they had already been looted. Sheffield plunged into the first he saw. It was Fourmyle's traveling library, filled with hundreds of books and thousands of glittering novel-beads. The Jack-jaunters were not interested in literature. Sheffield threw Foyle down on the floor. Only then did he take a gun from his pocket.

Foyle's eyelids fluttered; his eyes opened.

«You're drugged,» Sheffield said rapidly. «Don't try to jaunte. And don't move. I'm warning you, I'm prepared for anything.»

Dazedly, Foyle tried to rise. Sheffield instantly fired and seared his shoulder. Foyle was slammed back against the stone flooring. He was numbed and bewildered. There was a roaring in his ears and a poison coursing through his blood.

«I'm warning you,» Sheffield repeated. «I'm prepared for anything.»

«What do you want?» Foyle whispered.

«Two things. Twenty pounds of PyrE, and you. You most of all.»

«You lunatic! You damned maniac! I came into your office to give it up hand it over . . .»

«To the O.S.?»

«To the . . .what?»

«The Outer Satellites? Shall I spell it for you?»

«No. . .» Foyle muttered. «I might have known. The patriot, Sheffield, an O.S. agent. I should have known. I'm a fool.»

«You're the most valuable fool in the world, Foyle. We want you even more than the PyrE. That's an unknown to us, but we know what you are.»

«What are you talking about?»

«My God! You don't know, do you? You still don't know. You haven't an inkling.»

«Of what?»

«Listen to me,» Sheffield said in a pounding voice. «I'm taking you back two years to 'Nomad.' Understand? Back to the death of the 'Nomad.' One of our raiders finished her off and they found you aboard the wreck. The last man alive.»

«So an O.S. ship did blast 'Nomad'?»

«Yes. You don't remember?»

«I don't remember anything about that. I never could.»

«I'm telling you why. The raider got a clever idea. They'd turn you into a decoy . . . a sitting duck, understand? You were half dead, but they took you aboard and patched you up. They put you into a spacesuit and cast you adrift with your micro-wave on. You were broadcasting distress signals and mumbling for help on every wave band. The idea was, they'd lurk nearby and pick off the IP ships that came to rescue you.»

Foyle began to laugh. «I'm getting up,» he said recklessly. «Shoot again, you son of a bitch, but I'm getting up.» He struggled to his feet, clutching his shoulder. «So 'Vorga' shouldn't have picked me up anyway,» Foyle laughed. «I was a decoy. Nobody should have come near me. I was a shill, a lure, death bait….Isn't that the final irony? 'Nomad' didn't have any right to be rescued in the first place. I didn't have any right to revenge.»

«You still don't understand,» Sheffield pounded. «They were nowhere near 'Nomad' when they set you adrift. They were six hundred thousand miles from 'Nomad'.»

«Six hundred thous…?»

«Nomad' was too far out of the shipping lanes. They wanted you to drift where ships would pass. They took you six hundred thousand miles sunward and set you adrift. They put you through the air lock and backed off, watching you drift. Your suit lights were blinking and you were moaning for help on the micro-wave. Then you disappeared.»

«Disappeared?»

«You were gone. No more lights, no more broadcast. They came back to check. You were gone without a trace. And the next thing we learned you got back aboard 'Nomad'.»

«Impossible.»

«Man, you space-jaunted!» Sheffield said savagely. «You were patched and delirious, but you space-jaunted. You space-jaunted six hundred thousand miles through the void back to the wreck of the 'Nomad.' You did something that's never been done before. God knows how. You don't even know yourself, but we're going to find out. I'm taking you out to the Satellites with me and we'll get that secret out of you if we have to tear it out.»

He took Foyle's throat in his powerful hand and hefted the gun in the other. «But first I want the PyrE. You'll produce it, Foyle. Don't think you won't.» He lashed Foyle across the forehead with the gun. «I'll do anything to get it. Don't think I won't.» He smashed Foyle again, coldly, efficiently. «If you're looking for a purge, man, you've found it!»

Bunny leaped off the public jaunte stage at Five-Points and streaked into the main entrance of Central Intelligence's New York Office like a frightened rabbit. He shot past the outermost guard cordon, through the protective labyrinth, and into the inner offices. He acquired a train of excited pursuers and found himself face to face with the more seasoned guards who had calmly jaunted to positions ahead of him and were waiting.

Bunny began to shout: «Yeovil! Yeovil! Yeovil!»

Still running, he dodged around desks, kicked over chairs, and created an incredible uproar. He continued his yelling: «Yeovil! Yeovil! Yeovil!» Just before they were about to put him out of his misery, Y'ang-Yeovil appeared.

«What's all this?» he snapped. «I gave orders that Miss Wednesbury was to have absolute quiet.»

«Yeovil!» Bunny shouted.

«Who's that?»

«Sheffield's assistant.»

«What. . . Bunny?»

«Foyle!» Bunny howled. «Gully Foyle.»

Y'ang-Yeovil covered the fifty feet between them in exactly one-point-six-six seconds. «What about Foyle?»

«Sheffield's got him,» Bunny gasped.

«Sheffield? When?»

«Half an hour ago.»

«Why didn't he bring him here?»

«He abducted him. I think Sheffield's an O.S. agent. .

«Why didn't you come at Once?»

«Sheffield jaunted with Foyle. . . . Knocked him stiff and disappeared. I went looking. All over. Took a chance. Must have made fifty jauntes in twenty minutes. . .”

«Amateur!» Y'ang-Yeovil exclaimed in exasperation. «Why didn't you leave that to the pros?»

«Found 'em.»

«You found them? Where?»

«Old St. Pat's. Sheffield's after the…”

But Y'ang-Yeovil had turned on his heel and was tearing back up the corridor, shouting: «Robin! Robin! Stop! Stop!»

And then their ears were bruised by the bellow of thunder.