Wire thing hurt.
There it was! A definite thought projected into her mind!
The creature began struggling against its restraints and a tuft of fur twisted in a pinched coil of knotted wire.
Hurt!
With instinctive sympathy, Nishi rushed to the corner and loosened the knot, carefully pulling back the wire and freeing the creature. She still saw no head, tail or paws.
“What are you?” she asked, stroking the silky fur.
Dreen friend.
Dreen? Ryll was Dreen. She recalled Ryll’s notes falling from the air to her lap. You’re a gift from Ryll!
Ryll, Ryll, Ryll. Ryll Dreen. Dreen friend.
Nishi sat on the floor and scooped the furry ball into her lap. It had a slightly musty odor, not unpleasant. A low rumble came from somewhere within it. She felt it breathe deeply but saw no head, mouth or feet. The thing felt soft and warm. It pulsated against her hands.
The musty odor triggered old memories. She sat caught in her past—her mother’s face peering through bars of a crib, then leaning close to kiss her goodnight, tucking a bottle and favorite Donald Duck rubber car into the blankets. Nishi had not thought of the toy car for years. It had been light blue with Donald Duck in a matching blue sailor suit molded into the driver’s seat and much too large for the car.
Whatever happened to that toy?
Not know.
The thing in her lap was talking to her, putting thoughts directly into her mind. She knew it, recognized the alien oddity of the situation, and still could not prevent the upwelling nostalgia that brought tears to her eyes.
I’m crying over a lost toy.
Nishi make many sads.
The thing in her lap was right. The tears were for many things gone from her life and never to return—friends, father and brothers lost in the war . . . her mother, dead less than a year following that awful day when a Legion captain saluted her and delivered “our sympathy for your tragic loss.”
Nishi felt tears roll down her cheeks, dropping onto the furry creature in her lap. She used a corner of her robe to dry the thing’s fur, noting thin black streaks in the yellow. It rolled in her hands and positioned the black streaks against her lap, appearing entirely yellow now.
The black streaks are your underside.
Downside upside not matter.
What shall I call you?
Nishi like yellow?
Oh, yes. You’re my yellow thing.
Yellow Thing.
Yellow Thing, she thought. Odd name for an odd creature. She experienced a sudden surge of gratitude toward Ryll. He must have known I was lonely. Oh, where are you, Ryll? Where has Lutt taken you?
She looked down at the creature in her lap and dried her eyes. Foolish to sit here crying over what could not be changed.
Yellow Thing, she thought. YT. I will call you Wytee.
Cradling Wytee in her arms, Nishi returned to her bedroom where she placed her new pet on the bed while she prepared to remove her robe.
Man in window!
It was a sharply intrusive thought. She paused with her robe still on her shoulders and looked at the deep embrasure of her bedroom window. Captain O’Hara sat in the shadows of the window ledge, a cigarette in his mouth, a knowing smile on his face.
“Saw your light and thought you might be lonely,” he said.
He swiveled on his buttocks and slid off the ledge into the bedroom. She saw he was wearing only a thin white robe.
Nishi spoke in her coldest voice: “Get out of here or I will scream. I’m a virgin and I intend to stay that way!”
He moved toward her, slowly and steadily. “No, I don’t think you’ll scream. It’s time a real man tested your claim to virginity.”
Not touch her!
Nishi felt the solid impact of Wytee’s thought and O’Hara apparently also experienced it. He stopped short.
“Get out of here!” Nishi ordered.
You leave or hurt head bad! It was an ominous warning from Wytee.
O’Hara recoiled two steps. He glanced at the thing on the bed, then at Nishi. “How are you doing that?”
“Just leave quietly or it will go very bad for you,” she said.
Want head hurt?
O’Hara squeezed his eyes tightly closed and pressed both palms against his temples.
“Stop that!” he moaned.
“Leave and don’t come back unless I invite you,” she. said. She pointed to the bedroom doorway.
O’Hara opened his eyes and scurried past her out of the bedroom.
When the door closed behind him, Nishi sat down beside Wytee and stroked its yellow fur. “You’re more than just a pet,” she said.
Nishi friend. Bad man want lustful breeding Nishi. Nishi want lustful breeding Lutt.
I do, but I must not give him that power over me . . . not yet.
Her thoughts about Lutt became wistful. Would he marry that socialite? He really needs me. He has no friends except me.
It occurred to her that Lutt Hanson, Jr., was the most complex man she had ever met—a loner driven by compulsions. He didn’t want friends. No time for them. It took energy to maintain friendships. Friends were trouble. Yet he really wanted her—wanted the intimate companionship, the love, the friendship. Could he ever bring himself to the necessary understanding of his own desires? And what influence could Ryll have on the man who shared his flesh?
Lutt was a man of two lives, not only because of Ryll, but also in the ambivalence of his own compulsions.
Sleepily, Nishi extinguished the lights and crawled under the blankets. Wytee squirmed close against her neck.
Nishi sleep. Wytee not let bad thing come.
It was a comforting thought. She fell asleep while stroking Wytee’s silky pelt and awakened at dawn to feel the warm presence against her cheek, hearing the gentle rumble of its contentment. She stretched and yawned. It had been her most restful sleep since arriving at the villa.
“Thank you, Wytee.”
Lady friend come.
A knock at the bedroom door was followed by Subiyama’s low voice: “You awake, Nishi?”
“What is it, Lorna?”
Subiyama entered, a great mound of pink bathrobe with her hair wound into a red towel turban. “We’ve struck pay dirt, honey. Message through the Legion from my office. Phoenicia Hanson herself wants to see you.”
“See me?”
“A confab, honey. Wanta bet she’ll try to buy you off?”
Nishi sat up in bed and groped for her robe, slipping it over her shoulders.
“She tried that once and got the answer she deserved.”
The bed sagged as Subiyama sat on the foot of it. “Sure, honey, but think of this as good copy. Lutt’s mother tries to buy you off—as seen and reported by yours truly.”
“I don’t think she’ll try to buy me off again. It’s something different this time. And devious. You can count on it.”
“One way to find out, honey. Shall I tell your Legion buddies to send her along?”
“Why not?” Nishi rolled out of bed and slipped her arms into the robe. “Where’s Mrs. Ebey?”
“Makin’ us some coffee.” Subiyama looked at the furry yellow ball on Nishi’s pillow. “A man’s a lot more fun to sleep with than a cat, honey. And that Captain O’Hara sure has the hots for you.”
“But I do not want him.”
“You still think you can land Hanson, eh? Well, why not? A billionaire probably has more staying power than a damn Legion captain.” She turned and went out the door. “See you later, honey. Think maybe I’ll give Lew’s staying power another test.”
When she was gone, Wytee stirred, then: Big lady want lustful breeding Dreen.
“She’s no Dreen, Wytee, She’s a human just like me.”
Big lady human want lustful breeding Dreen, Wytee insisted.
Nishi chuckled. “I think she’s lustful for a human, too.”
Big lady want lustful breed many humans. Big lady make l
ustful thinks bad man O’Hara.
“I’m sure you’re right, Wytee. Lorna’s what we call very oversexed.”
Mrs. Ebey appeared in the doorway with a steaming cup of coffee. “Who’re you talking to, Miss Nishi?”
“Talking to myself, Mrs. Ebey. Put the coffee on my nightstand.”
“You want me to lay out your clothes?”
“I’ll take care of it. You get your breakfast and I’ll talk to you later about Phoenicia Hanson. I want you to tell me everything you know about her.”
“Any special reason?”
“She’s coming here to see me.”
“Lorna’s stories got under her skin! Take her for all you can, Miss Nishi. Millions!”
“We’ll see, Mrs. Ebey. Run along now.”
When she was gone, Wytee stirred on the bed. Ebey lady make bad thinks Phoenicia, Ebey lady make many thinks money. Why Ebey lady make thinks money?
Hearing someone in the hallway, Nishi composed her reply in a silent thought: Mrs. Ebey is getting old and afraid. She has no one to care for her.
Ebey lady think Phoenicia Hanson very bad person.
She probably is a very bad person.
Wytee not let bad persons hurt Nishi. Wytee friend Nishi.
Nishi scooped up the furry yellow ball and hugged it. I know you’re my friend. Are you hungry, Wytee? What do you eat?
Wytee eat little air things. Take deep breath eat. Not worry. Wytee never hungry.
***
The engagement of Ms. Eola VanDyke to Lutt Hanson, Jr., was announced in Spokane today by her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Percival S. VanDyke. No wedding date has been set, but informed sources said the nuptials may occur in the White House, depending on the outcome of Mr. Hanson’s bid for the Presidency.
—From the Spokane Breeze
Lutt, his shirt open to the navel, sat facing the closed door of his father’s office in the MX complex. Excessive activity brought on by Phoenicia’s orders made it hot in the complex this evening, almost as hot as at the Enquirer. Following his editorial policy on conservation, the newspaper’s air conditioning had been shut off. Uncomfortable in his Enquirer office, sweat coursing down his chest and under his belt, Lutt had fled to the complex, using the argument that he and Woon could meet secretly here.
Woon waxed lyric about the hothouse effect in the Enquirer and had ordered pictures showing Lutt at work under those steamy conditions.
“Poll results show sixty-one percent in favor of your ‘consistent agreement with the needs of the people,’” Woon said.
Screw the people, Lutt thought.
But the campaign was going well. Even Morey agreed. Whether on Phoenicia’s orders or to mend his own fences, Morey no longer made snide remarks about “my brother, the President.”
Just let me get control of the Justice Department, Morey. I’ll show you how justice is administered under my orders!
The call Lutt cherished had come from Major Captain. She had reached him at the Enquirer the day his candidacy became public and, seeing Lutt as a possible commander in chief, she had been brisk and businesslike.
“In light of your new status, Mr. Hanson, I would like to offer, on my general’s behalf, any facilities you may need from the Zone Patrol Regional Command. Of course, we will coordinate with the Secret Service for your protection and, should you require any further use of our facilities, please feel free to call us.”
Lutt thought he had used great restraint not asking her if she wanted to bring him in for interrogation. She must also have nurtured thoughts about their previous meetings, because she said, “If I have caused any offense in the past, please blame zealous obedience to my oath of allegiance.”
“Should I win this election, Major Captain, you may be sure the ZP will be the first to benefit.”
He had thought that reply quite statesmanlike and Woon had praised it.
“You’re beginning to sound like a President, by God! Now let’s whip a few asses over there and get you a proper official entourage.”
The immediate result was three ZP squads—one in the Enquirer, one at the family compound and one mobile to accompany him on campaign trips. Hanson Guards and his mother objected but Lutt had been all sweetness in response.
“It’s their duty to guard me. You can’t be suggesting I ask these brave people to forsake their duty.”
Lutt found it amusing to see guards and ZP tripping over one another, each trying to be first and each spying on him. The ZP, Lutt supposed, reported to Woon. Guards reported to Mother.
And I report only to Father’s Listening Post.
Lutt looked around him at the office, all of it much as he had found it the night of his father’s death. He thought he had uncovered most of the traps but the Listening Post upstairs still daunted him. There was a pattern to the traps, Lutt thought, but he could not put it into words. Still, there was satisfaction in the fact neither Morey nor his mother dared join him here, even though Hanson Guards waited outside right now with his mobile ZP squad. The guards flatly refused to enter L.H.’s premises.
I believe I’m beginning to think like the old man. And that may be just the fatal mistake he expected.
The main computers still pulsed and reported from the tentacles of Hanson Industries, even though Phoenicia and Morey had tried to cut this office’s connections to The Company. But Lutt dared not put his own orders on line. When his mother complained to Woon, the senator played a delaying game, asking for more time.
From the first, Lutt had used this office as a retreat, leaving the impression with Morey and Woon that he was following their every move from here, just as his father had. They would test him, though. And the sham could be exposed.
Damn! Lutt thought as he looked up at the entrance to the escalator and the Listening Post.
Ryll, silent observer to most of Lutt’s recent activities, saw the direction of his fleshmate’s thoughts and protested.
No, Lutt! It’s too dangerous!
If I can’t use the Listening Post, I’m done for. I’ll be another of Phoenicia’s puppets . . . or even worse, Woon’s puppet.
Lutt lifted himself from the chair and felt it shift beneath him. Instinctively, he dove to the floor. A barrage of darts hissed across him, spraying the area he had just vacated. He watched them slam into an armor glass window and shatter. Broken pieces of darts fell to the floor. A servobot sped from a nearby wall slot and scooped up the pieces.
Would it have scooped up the pieces of me, too?
Your father was a wild animal! Ryll protested. Stay out of his Listening Post.
Not on your life, Ryll baby. It’s him or me now. No dead man’s going to defeat me!
Taking his father’s control cane, Lutt crossed the narrow lane to the escalator and set it running. Up the steps with their grisly warning he went, attention on the walls around him, the landing, the narrow passage to the Post itself.
The old man could have set other traps like that chair, that didn’t go off the first time.
Lutt, please go back, Ryll pleaded.
Just as dangerous to go back as to go ahead. May be even more dangerous to go back without solving this place. Stop distracting me. That itself could kill us.
Lutt paused outside the Listening Post and examined the door jamb. No apparent traps in it, but there had been nothing to reveal the chair’s secret, either.
He touched a key on the cane and stepped aside, but the door opened without incident. Slowly, leaning on the cane the way his father had, Lutt crossed the threshold.
Here it was, the innermost key to his father’s soul. And the dome holding the “Final Words” for Morey remained intact, the folder visible inside.
Lutt stared at the wall modules, their oddly configured graphics and LEDs all around him. He recalled his father working on a module during that last visit here. Yes, there was the unit. Lutt remembered counting up from the floor and out from the nearest corner to mark the thing’s placement.
Why did I do that?
Had it been something about his father’s actions that day? Was there a clue in what his father had done? Maybe he was trying to show me something, testing me to see if I would notice.
Lutt looked at the transparent dome where his “Final Words” had reposed. The dome lay tipped back on its hinges and, for the first time, Lutt noted an almost microscopic red wire under the seal. He leaned close and inspected it, following it around and down the supporting stand. Into a grout line of the tiled floor it went, across the floor, up the modular wall and . . . yes, into the unit his father had removed and replaced.
Was the red wire what it seemed to be?
Lutt pondered this.
The Listening Post is now yours, all yours and yours alone.
His father’s “Final Words.”
No, Lutt! Ryll pleaded as he read the thought forming in Lutt’s mind. Your father was devious and treacherous!
He was also dying and he knew it.
You can’t trust him! It’s too much of a gamble.
Lutt did not reply. He put a hand on the module his father had replaced. With one swift pull, he removed the unit from the wall and looked at it. Reversible! He rotated the module and plugged it back into the wall.
“Up here, Lutt.”
His father’s voice! Lutt looked up. The ceiling had become a screen and there was his father seated at the main computers in the outer office.
“Pretty good recording, eh?” the seated figure asked. “Answer if you want but I’m not really here for one of our old conversations. Those were pretty boring, anyway.”
The figure looked directly down at him from the screen, the prosthetic eyes like antennae protruding from his head.
“That took guts to trust me, but I presume you saw the red wire and recognized it as one of my simple go-no-go breaker links. You still couldn’t be certain, though.” Laughter shook the figure in the screen.
“You old bastard!” Lutt said. “You’re dead and still playing your games with me!”
“No sense cussing me out,” the recorded figure said. “Oh, I know you pretty well, Son. I’ve studied you a long time. You won’t let Morey or your mother into these offices but they’ve tried to disconnect my control and communications systems. Typical.”