"How long will this take?" Paul asked as he ducked under the door and stepped onto the tiled roof. "Mr. Avery has another show in two hours."
"No problem," Frakes said in a tone that revealed little concern. Not his problem, he means, Paul thought angrily.
Frakes led them in a diagonal line across the roof, picking his way easily through the parked flyers and streamcraft until he reached a section of the building that jutted above the parking level. He thumbed the lock of an unmarked door and led the way into a narrow, brightly lighted corridor. The two guardsmen stepped in behind them, but turned down another hallway and disappeared without a word.
The corridor was lined with numbered, woodveneer doors and opened into a lobby farther down. Paul heard distant voices and the erratic chatter of a high-speed printer. Frakes stopped in front of one of the doors before they reached the lobby. He thumbed the lock and pushed open the door, then moved out of the way to let Paul and Dorland step through into a small conference room.
"Sabre's on his way down. Have a seat if you want."
Paul turned to ask a question, but the door had already closed behind Frakes with a soft whirring sound.
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31
"Mr. Personality," he commented.
Dorland made a noncommittal sound as he
crossed to the room's only window. Paul found the room as dull and lifeless as any typical business conference room: large wooden table with six chairs, neutral landscape holos on the walls, thin carpet. In one corner stood a potted plant with large, blue-veined leaves.
It took Paul a moment to realize what was
missing. There was no communications equipment
—not even a local intercom. At the same time he recalled the odd sound the door had made as it closed. An electronic lock? Suddenly the room seemed more like a jail cell than a conference room.
"We shouldn't have come here," he said. Dorland turned to lean against the wall, facing Paul with his arms folded across his chest. "Better to find out what they want and get it over with." The words came out with a heavy weariness that made Paul look more closely at Dorland. "What do they want—"
"I don't know," Dorland said with uncharacteristic abruptness. His eyes remained steady on Paul. Then Paul realized why Dorland was being cautious. It was possible—probable, he decided—that there were unseen eyes and ears in this room. Dorland pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. "How's your knee?"
"Bruised, but okay." Hanes had wrapped it with a cloth bandage to keep the swelling down, and a small white capsule reduced the pain to a dull ache. Paul hardly noticed it. He reached for another chair, then turned as the door behind him clicked open. Erich Frakes came in followed by another man, who wore a gray one-piece civilian suit and carried a slim brown attache case. Before Frakes could make introductions, the man swung the attache case up onto the table and held out his hand to Dorland.
32 William Greenleaf
"Parke Sabre. Don't get up." He shook Dorland's hand. "I've always admired your work. I wish we could have met under better circumstances." Sabre was a contrast in almost every way to Erich Frakes
—tall and slender, with sharp features and dark hair that was artfully arranged to disguise premature thinning. He spoke quickly in clipped Basic, his voice smooth and refined. He offered his hand perfunctorily to Paul. "You're Mr. Jurick?" Paul nodded. Sabre glided on before he could speak.
"I'm glad you could come, Mr. Jurick. I've heard quite a lot about you. I understand you were in the Guard. I'm always glad to meet someone who has served his people."
The casual statement jolted Paul. How much does he know about mef
Still grasping Paul's hand, Sabre began to edge him toward the open door. Erich Frakes waited there with his arms folded. "I'd like to ask Mr. Avery a few questions. It'll take only a few minutes. We have a visitors' lounge down the hall. Erich will help you find it. I'm sure you could use some refreshments."
"Thanks, no." Paul pulled free of Sabre's hand and sat down at the table beside Dorland. "I'll wait."
"Really, there's no. need—"
"I'd like to stay, if you don't mind." Sabre's smile faded. He stared at Paul a moment longer; then his eyes went to Dorland. He spoke with barely concealed irritation. "There are some personal aspects about this, Mr. Avery. Some of it concerns your past. It's up to you, of course." Paul felt a chill of apprehension. Some of it concerns your past.
Dorland said quietly: "I want Paul to stay."
"Fine, fine." Sabre jerked out a chair and sat down. Frakes cleared his throat and closed the
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33
door. He stood with his back to it, facing the room. His expression was neutral.
"Well, now," Sabre began, clasping his hands in front of him on the table. With visible effort, he pulled out another smile. "Mr. Avery, I want to assure you we're doing everything we can to find out why that man assaulted you, and to make sure it doesn't happen again. I've instructed my people to give full cooperation to the Guard." He leaned across the table on his elbows to look intently at Dorland. "We've gone through his personal effects, but all we found was his name. Lon Bekman." His eyes were on Dorland, and Paul suddenly realized he was watching for a reaction. Paul could have told him not to waste his time. Dorland was the most sensitive person Paul had ever met, but he was also the most effective at hiding his feelings. "He appears to be an official in some sort of church. Beyond that, we're drawing a blank. Is there any information you can give us?"
Dorland moved back in his chair to put more distance between him and Sabre. He asked cautiously: "What kind of information?"
"Do you know Bekman?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Ever see him before?"
"I'm sorry, but I can't answer that. I didn't see his face in the auditorium."
Sabre frowned. His eyes shifted to Frakes, then back to Dorland. "I understand he was in the front row—"
"The spotlights were in Dorland's eyes," Paul said. Sabre's too-slick manner was beginning to wear on him. "There's no way he could have seen what happened. Besides, he was still in the player's trance."
"The trance?" Sabre's eyes went back to Dorland. "I assumed that was part of the show. Do you really go into a hypnotic trance?" William Greenleaf
34
Dorland nodded. He didn't bother to correct Sabre. Despite the commonly held belief, the psiplayer's trance was anything but hypnotic.
"Hmm." Sabre's eyes flicked back to Paul. "I understand you were closer to Bekman when
he—"
"I've never seen him before."
"Do you and Mr. Hanes often watch the show from the control booth?"
"Not the show," Paul corrected. "The audience. Jeffrey is in charge of our security team. He likes to observe from up there. Sometimes I keep him company."
"Was there any reason for concern tonight? From a security standpoint, I mean."
"We got a threatening call," Paul answered. He thought: Why does he keep asking questions when he already knows the answersi "We reported that to the Guard. As far as I can see, they should be handling this. Why is Omega Security involved?"
"This man Bekman wasn't working aione," Sabre said, sidestepping the question. "We know somebody else in the auditorium attracted Mr. Hanes's attention. We think Mr. Avery's life may still be in danger."
"It's the Guard's job to keep law and order, to protect citizens and all that," Paul said. He kept his growing anger under control by an act of will.
"They don't cooperate with Security unless they have to. The local Guard commander would rather pull his own thumbnails out than turn something like this over to you." Sabre started to say something, but Paul raised his voice to talk over him.
"Since he obviously has, I have to assume he's gotten orders from somebody higher up. That means that what happened today goes beyond a crackpot trying'to assassinate a well-known psiplayer." He glanced pointedly at his wristwatch.