reverently, "we bring you the last image of the LadyDallona, and of Dirzed, her faithful Assassin, taken just before theyvanished, never to be seen again."
The plate darkened, and there were strains of slow, dirgelike music;then it lighted again, presenting a view of a broad hallway, throngedwith men and women in bright varicolored costumes. In the foreground,wearing a tight skirt of deep blue and a short red jacket, was HadronDalla, just as she had looked in the solidographs taken in Dhergabarafter her alteration by the First Level cosmeticians to conform to theappearance of the Malayoid Akor-Neb people. She was holding the arm ofa man who wore the black tunic and red badge of an Assassin, ahandsome specimen of the Akor-Neb race. Trust little Dalla for that,Verkan Vall thought. The figures were moving with exaggeratedslowness, as though a very fleeting picture were being stretched outas far as possible. Having already memorized his former wife's changedappearance, Verkan Vall concentrated on the man beside her until thepicture faded.
"All right, Olirzon; what did you get?" he asked.
"Well, first of all, at Assassins' Hall," Olirzon said, rolling up hisleft sleeve, holding his bare forearm to the light, and shaving a fewfine hairs from it to test the edge of his knife. "Of course, theynever tell one Assassin anything about the client of another Assassin;that's standard practice. But I was in the Lodge Secretary's office,where nobody but Assassins are ever admitted. They have a big panel inthere, with the names of all the Lodge members on it in light-letters;that's standard in all Lodges. If an Assassin is unattached and freeto accept a client, his name's in white light. If he has a client, thelight's changed to blue, and the name of the client goes up under his.If his whereabouts are unknown, the light's changed to amber. If he isdiscarnated, his name's removed entirely, unless the circumstances ofhis discarnation are such as to constitute an injury to the Society.In that case, the name's in red light until he's been properlyavenged, or, as we say, till his blood's been mopped up. Well, thename of Dirzed is up in blue light, with the name of Dallona of Hadronunder it. I found out that the light had been amber for two days afterthe disappearance, and then had been changed back to blue. Get it,Lord Virzal?"
Verkan Vall nodded. "I think so. I'd been considering that as apossibility from the first. Then what?"
"Then I was about and around for a couple of hours, buying drinks forpeople--unattached Assassins, Constabulary detectives, politicalworkers, newscast people. You owe me fifteen System Monetary Units forthat, Lord Virzal. What I got, when it's all sorted out--I taped it indetail, as soon as I got back--reduces to this: The Volitionalists aremoving mountains to find out who was the spy at Garnon of Roxor'sdiscarnation feast, but are doing nothing but nothing at all to findthe Lady Dallona or Dirzed. The Statisticalists are making all sortsof secret efforts to find out what happened to her. The Constabularyblame the Statistos for the package-bomb: they're interested in thatbecause of the discarnation of the three servants by an illegal weaponof indiscriminate effect. They claim that the disappearance of Dirzedand the Lady Dallona was a publicity hoax. The Volitionalists arepreparing a line of publicity to deny this."
Verkan Vall nodded. "That ties in with what you learned at Assassins'Hall," he said. "They're hiding out somewhere. Is there any chance ofreaching Dirzed through the Society of Assassins?"
Olirzon shook his head. "If you're right--and that's the way it looksto me, too--he's probably just called in and notified the Society thathe's still carnate and so is the Lady Dallona, and called off anysearch the Society might be making for him."
"And I've got to find the Lady Dallona as soon as I can. Well, if Ican't reach her, maybe I can get her to send word to me," Verkan Vallsaid. "That's going to take some doing, too."
"What did you find out, Lord Virzal?" Olirzon asked. He had a piece ofsoft leather, now, and was polishing his blade lovingly.
"The Reincarnation Research people don't know anything," Verkan Vallreplied. "Dr. Harnosh of Hosh thinks she's discarnate. I did find outthat the experimental work she's done, so far, has absolutelydisproved the theory of Statistical Reincarnation. The Volitionalists'theory is solidly established."
"Yes, what do you think, Olirzon?" Marnik added. "They have a case onrecord of a man who worked up from field hand to millionaire in fivereincarnations. Deliberately, that is." He went on to repeat whatHarnosh of Hosh had said; he must have possessed an almost eideticmemory, for he gave the bearded psychicist's words verbatim, and threwin the gestures and voice-inflections.
Olirzon grinned. "You know, there's a chance for the easy-money boys,"he considered. "'You, too, can Reincarnate as a millionaire! Let Dr.Nirzutz of Futzbutz Help You! Only 49.98 System Monetary Units for theSecret, Infallible, Autosuggestive Formula.' And would it sell!" Heput away the hone and the bit of leather and slipped his knife backinto its sheath. "If I weren't a respectable Assassin, I'd give it atry, myself."
Verkan Vall looked at his watch. "We'd better get something to eat,"he said. "We'll go down to the main dining room; the Martian Room, Ithink they call it. I've got to think of some way to let the LadyDallona know I'm looking for her."
* * * * *
The Martian Room, fifteen stories down, was a big place, occupyingalmost half of the floor space of one corner tower. It had been fittedto resemble one of the ruined buildings of the ancient and vanishedrace of Mars who were the ancestors of Terran humanity. One whole sideof the room was a gigantic cine-solidograph screen, on which thegullied desolation of a Martian landscape was projected; in the courseof about two hours, the scene changed from sunrise through daylightand night to sunrise again.
It was high noon when they entered and found a table; by the time theyhad finished their dinner, the night was ending and the first glow ofdawn was tinting the distant hills. They sat for a while, watching thelight grow stronger, then got up and left the table.
There were five men at a table near them; they had come in before thestars had grown dim, and the waiters were just bringing their firstdishes. Two were Assassins, and the other three were of a breed VerkanVall had learned to recognize on any time-line--the arrogant,cocksure, ambitious, leftist politician, who knows what is best foreverybody better than anybody else does, and who is convinced that heis inescapably right and that whoever differs with him is not only anignoramus but a venal scoundrel as well. One was a beefy man in agold-laced cream-colored dress tunic; he had thick lips and atoo-ready laugh. Another was a rather monkish-looking young man whospoke earnestly and rolled his eyes upward, as though at somecelestial vision. The third had the faint powdering of gray in hisblack hair which was, among the Akor-Neb people, almost the onlyindication of advanced age.
"Of course it is; the whole thing is a fraud," the monkish young manwas saying angrily. "But we can't prove it."
"Oh, Sirzob, here, can prove anything, if you give him time," thebeefy one laughed. "The trouble is, there isn't too much time. We knowthat that communication was a fake, prearranged by the Volitionalists,with Dr. Harnosh and this Dallona of Hadron as their tools. They fedthe whole thing to that idiot boy hypnotically, in advance, and then,on a signal, he began typing out this spurious communication. Andthen, of course, Dallona and this Assassin of hers ran off somewheretogether, so that we'd be blamed with discarnating or abducting them,and so that they wouldn't be made to testify about the communicationon a lie detector."
A sudden happy smile touched Verkan Vall's eyes. He caught each of hisAssassins by an arm.
"Marnik, cover my back," he ordered. "Olirzon, cover everybody at thetable. Come on!"
Then he stepped forward, halting between the chairs of the young manand the man with the gray hair and facing the beefy man in the lighttunic.
"You!" he barked. "I mean YOU."
The beefy man stopped laughing and stared at him; then sprang to hisfeet. His hand, streaking toward his left armpit, stopped and droppedto his side as Olirzon aimed a pistol at him. The others satmotionless.
"You," Verkan Vall continued, "are a complete, deliberate, maliciou
s,and unmitigated liar. The Lady Dallona of Hadron is a scientist ofintegrity, incapable of falsifying her experimental work. What's more,her father is one of my best friends; in his name, and in hers, Idemand a full retraction of the slanderous statements you have justmade."
"Do you know who I am?" the beefy one shouted.
"I know _what_ you are," Verkan Vall shouted back. Like most ancientlanguages, the Akor-Neb speech included an elaborate, delicately-shaded,and utterly vile vocabulary of abuse; Verkan Vall culled from itjudiciously and at length. "And if I