“I don’t like the talkative ones,” the questioner said, leading the way.
“It don’t matter,” said Johan. “It all ends up the same way each time.”
Eric suddenly stopped. The pressure on his arm increased dangerously, but he held his ground. “I’m not going with you people until you tell me what this is all about.” It was strange. He couldn’t remember ever being frightened like this. But he was now.
“Explanations aren’t my line,” said the questioner. “My job is to fetch.”
“Like a dog?”
“Yes, just like a dog.” The man didn’t seem upset. “Every now and then my employer pats me on the head and throws a couple of treats my way. Nice treats. So come along quietly and no more noise, okay?”
Come on where, Eric thought wildly? Who are these people and what do they want with me? There was a dead man in the office he’d just left. Were they responsible for that? It seemed likely. And if he didn’t do something quick there might be another insignificant news item on the opto tomorrow:
BODY OF SELVERN DESIGNER FOUND IN CENTRAL ARIZONA PROJECT CANAL … SUICIDE SUSPECTED
“I said that I’m not going with you until I know what’s going on here.”
“I heard you,” said the questioner. “Shut him up, Johan, and bring him along.” The pressure on Eric’s arm increased. It hurt now. Another hand went over his mouth.
I can’t go with them, he thought frantically. I’ll end up like Polikartos. I’ve got to do something!
It seemed as though his body raced ahead of his thoughts. The hand across his mouth was half suffocating him. He reached up with his free right hand and grabbed the wrist, yanked impulsively. The hand came away from his mouth. It continued around, propelled by his convulsive yank, and spun the one called Johan sideways through the air. A shocked Eric released his grip, and the big man slammed into the far wall, dented the cheap plaster, and slid unconscious to the floor. He mumbled something and his eyes blinked open.
The questioner had been staring up the hall and hadn’t seen it. Now he spun around, saw Eric standing open-mouthed in front of him and his partner lying awkwardly against the wall. He eyed Eric strangely.
“What the hell happened?” he muttered, dividing his attention between Eric and his associate.
“I slipped,” Johan growled. His eyes narrowed as he climbed to his feet. He looked like a small lion. “I must have slipped and he threw me. Karate or judo or something.”
“You’re going to make things hard on all of us, aren’t you, smart boy?” said the questioner.
Eric was breathing fast. He felt oddly light-headed, his thoughts floating, detached from his body. This wasn’t happening to him. He was an observer, watching curiously, his own body a stranger in an opto play. His body still reacted to his distant thoughts, however. He started backing down the hallway.
“Stay away from me, both of you.”
“Come on, Johan,” said the questioner. “I haven’t got time for games.”
“No games,” rumbled Johan. “You asked for this, sleek.” Arms outstretched, he rushed at Eric.
He faked with his left hand and threw a sharp, straight karate jab with his right, aiming for Eric’s solar plexus. Not knowing what else to do, Eric instinctively threw up his left hand to try to block the blow. There was contact. Johan let out a yelp, drew back his hand, and cradled it against his chest, pain in his eyes. Eric gave his palm a look of wonder.
“I told you guys I don’t want any trouble.” He gestured up the hall. “You go that way and I’ll go the other. We don’t have to do this.”
The questioner wasn’t listening. He’d seen enough. His hand disappeared inside a coat pocket, started to pull out something compact and shiny.
A tranquilizer pistol, Eric thought, or worse, a pingun. The hole in Polikartos’s skull suddenly loomed like a tunnel in front of his eyes.
“No, don’t!” he shouted, rushing forward and throwing himself at the questioner. He shoved desperately, trying to keep that clutching hand inside the coat pocket. There was a peculiar, sharp snap. His inquisitor screamed softly as his arm broke at the elbow. He toppled backward against the wall, holding himself. Carried forward by his own momentum, Eric found himself pushing the other man to the floor. He ended up sitting on the questioner’s chest.
“Damn, oh, damn!” the man was screaming while twisting beneath Eric. “Johan, get him off me. He broke my damn arm!”
A vast weight descended on Eric. An arm went under his chin while a second pressed down on the back of his head. Eric could feel the flow of air and blood shutting off under the pressure. He tried to stand and bent sharply forward against the weight.
Johan flew off his back and slammed into the ceiling. Instead of falling, he went through the lower layer of fiberglass, through plaster, wood and metal supports and braces, and hung there staring silently at the floor, imbedded in the roof. Arms and, legs dangled loosely, like torn cables.
Eric climbed off the questioner, who promptly began rolling over on the floor clutching his twisted arm. In his pain he didn’t notice what had happened to his partner.
“I … I’m sorry,” Eric mumbled. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Get away from me!” the questioner was screaming. “Johan, get him away from me!”
Eric started backing up the hallway. “Please, I don’t know … I … ” He broke and ran, a cold sweat starting on his forehead. He raced past the elevators and hurtled down the stairs, caroming off landings and railings. Once he fell and rolled down a whole flight before getting his feet back beneath him. His coat was ripped and he was bleeding from a scratch on the back of his neck, where one of Johan’s fingernails had caught as he’d been catapulted toward the ceiling.
Then he was clear of the building, out on the street and gasping for air. People stopped to stare at him. Suddenly aware of all the attention he was drawing, he started walking away, straightening his coat and trying to hide the rip in the material as best he could.
At least there was no crowd. Away from the city’s commercial center there were fewer pedestrians and robocabs, more people traveling in private vehicles.
Mad. I’m going stark raving mad, he thought wildly. Charlie was right all along.
The events of the past several minutes defied explanation, just as they defied comprehension. He was not a particularly strong man, nor had he ever thought of himself as such. He didn’t go in for health foods or special diets, didn’t participate in organized sports. He much preferred reading as a form of exercise. Sure, he’d always stayed fit and trim, but he was hardly built like a weight lifter.
“Hey man, you okay?” asked a teenager. He wore a plug in his right ear. Faint sounds of electronic music reached Eric.
He veered away, stumbling once. “Yes, I’m fine, thanks. I just took a little spill. Nothing serious.”
“You sure, man?”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure.” He increased his pace, trying not to stagger, conscious of the youth’s eyes on his back as he retreated. The teenager shrugged, let his mind be submerged by the music.
