have been a Consolidatedemployee. But this thing you blundered into up there destroys yourvalue entirely. It makes you potentially as dangerous as the Saymerpatent. That's my opinion.
"The other three who share the Von Rausch secret have an equal vote indeciding the issue. They may reverse my decision. I've asked them tocome here, and I'm waiting for them now."
The old man was so intent upon making a logical explanation of thedeath sentence he pronounced--without putting it into words--that hedidn't notice Hunter edging closer to the desk. Captain Hunter saw nochance for a reprieve when the other three arrived. Why wait? Havingfought on the frontier, Hunter was aware of a property of the Venusiancrystal which possibly the old man did not know. It was impervious toblaster fire.
Hunter acted with the split-second timing of an experienced spaceman.He swung his body in a flying tackle against the old man's chair andin the same swift motion pushed himself into the leg cubicle carved inthe crystal.
As the chair toppled and before he realized his own danger, the oldman cried the code word that triggered the wall blasters. He wasinstantly caught in the deadly cross-fire.
As the weapons slid back into the wall slots, Hunter leaped for thedoor, and passed quickly through it. The outer hall was empty. Hesprinted for the walk-way, the echoes of the blast still ringing inhis ears.
A destination marker glowed above a nearby metro-entry. It told him hewas on the Twenty-eighth level of center-city. On a large, publicTri-D screen Hunter saw a picture of the strike mob in the industrialarea. That was all the data he needed. If the mob was still in thestreets, Eric Young was still manipulating the transmitter.
Hunter took an unchartered autojet and dialed as his destination theU.F.W. clinic. It was the largest structure in the industrial area,made from luminous, pink, Martian stone, which had been imported atgreat cost--and with a blaze of publicity.
Completed only three years before, the U.F.W. clinic had been given acontinuous flood of publicity. Numerous Tri-D public service programshad explored its wards, its laboratories, and its service centers, andeven in a distant spaceship Hunter had not remained in ignorance ofthe build-up. The knowledge served to his advantage now, for he knewjust where Young's personal penthouse was located and exactly how toreach it.
There were no armed guards or automatic probes in the clinic. Such anoutward display of force wouldn't have jibed with Young's publicpersonality. He was the much-loved official head of a union whosemembership totaled millions.
Any protective device would have distorted the illusion and destroyedthe legend completely.
Young's penthouse, thirty floors above street level, was the modestgarden cottage which had been so widely publicized and that, too, wasa part of his illusion. When Hunter saw the tiny house he was able toappreciate Young's showmanship, his insight into the mental processesof the credulous.
Hunter moved toward the door. Light glowed inside the cottage, butthrough the broad, front window he could see no one. He felt amomentary doubt. Had he guessed wrong? Was Young holding Ann somewhereelse?
But Hunter was sure Young had not taken that precaution. It would haveinvolved risks he would not have to contend with at the clinic, unlesshe had been reasonably certain he would be found out. And Young hadexpected to prevent that by keeping Consolidated and United at eachother's throats.
Hunter kicked open the door. The three small rooms in the cottage wereempty--until a man wearing a union smock emerged from the narrowgalley. He hadn't been there a moment before when Hunter examined thecubicle, and there was no rear entry to the cottage.
"Mr. Young isn't here, sir." The man said, gliding swiftly toward him."If you wish to leave a message--"
Hunter saw the telltale grid wire in the stranger's forehead. Heducked aside instinctively as the knife gleamed in the man's hand.With an odd, sighing sound, the blade arched through the air, smashingthe picture window. Hunter's fist shot out, and the man droppedunconscious.
Hunter went into the galley and found what he had missed before--thefalse bank of food slots which masked a narrow stairway. He ranquickly down the steps, and found the opulent living quarters EricYoung had concealed on the clinic floor beneath the innocent gardencottage. Here in gaudy splendor, in the tasteless clutter of objectsassembled from every quarter of the cartel empire, was the true indexto the infinite ambition of the U.F.W. boss.
A dozen men and women lurched at Hunter from an open hall. They worewhite hospital robes and their foreheads were still bandaged.Obviously they were patients with recently grafted slave grids.Obedient to the transmission, they fought with a desperate, savagefury--and a clumsy lack of co-ordination which caricatured normalhuman behavior.
Hunter repulsed their attack without difficulty. Yet he felt an innerdisgust and loathing as if he were using his strength to defeathelpless children. In two minutes it was over. One of the men wasdead, his head bandage torn loose, and the grid ripped out of hisskull. Three more lay sprawled out on the floor, bleeding badly fromfreshly opened incisions.
Hunter drew his blaster and entered the thickly-carpeted hall, glowingwith the soft, pink light of the luminous, Martian stone. He criedAnn's name. His voice fell hollowly in the silence, but there was noresponse. He moved to the end of the hall and pushed open a narrowdoor.
He saw the white-tiled laboratory, Ann's transmitter standing on along table with new platinum grids piled by the dozen beside it, andthe barrack rows of hospital beds. From the angle of the room whichwas hidden by the half-open door, Ann Saymer ran toward him withoutstretched hands, crying his name. He took a step toward her. Andsomething struck the back of his head.
IX
Hunter's mind rocked. He felt himself falling down the long spiralinto unconsciousness. The blaster slipped from his hand and his kneesbuckled. But he clawed blindly, with animal instinct, at the handsclosing on his throat.
His head cleared. He saw Eric Young's dark face close to his. Hunterswung his fist into Young's stomach, and the hands slid away from histhroat. Captain Hunter sprang to his feet, crouching low to meetYoung's next attack. Young's swing went wild. Hunter's fist struck atthe flabby jaw. Eric Young backed away, reeling under the hammerblows, until he came up against the laboratory table.
Suddenly he slashed at Hunter with a scalpel. The blade nicked Max'sshoulder and cut across his jacket. The cloth parted, sliding down hisarms and pinning his hands together. In the split-second it tookHunter to free himself from the torn jacket, Young swung the scalpelagain. Hunter dodged. Miscalculating his aim, Eric Young tripped overHunter's outstretched leg and fell, screaming, upon the point of hisown weapon.
Hunter stood for an instant with his legs spread wide, looking down atYoung. Then he dropped to his knees and rolled the grievously woundedman over on his back. The hand grasping the scalpel slowly pulled theblade from the abdominal wound. Blood pulsed out upon the white tile.Young was still barely alive.
Hunter walked toward the transmitter, where Ann stood, saying nothing,her eyes wide and staring. A tremendous conflict was raging withinhim. Running away was no solution, but what if he could destroy thesystem itself? Break the mold and start anew.
He had the instrument that would do it, the hundreds of obedientslaves Young had already turned loose on the streets. With Ann'stransmitter he could transform the disciplined strike of humanautomatons into a civic disaster. Terror and violence uprooting thefoundations of the city.
But a moment's madness could not overthrow the enduring rationality ofHunter's adjustment index. To loose that horror was to set himself injudgment upon the dreams and hopes, the perversion and the sublimity,of his fellow men. To play at God--a delusion no different from EricYoung's.
Savagely Hunter lifted a chair and started to swing it at thetransmitter. Instantly, Ann Saymer turned to face him, the blasterclasped tightly in her hand.
"No, Max."
"But, Ann, those people outside are in desperate danger--"
"I've gone this far. I _won't_ turn back." In her voice was thefamiliar
drive, the ambition he knew so well. But now it seemeddifferent, a twisted distortion of something he had once admired.
"We don't need Eric Young," she said. "He's bungled everything. Youand I, Max--" She caressed the transmitter affectionately. "With this,we'll possess unlimited power."
"You mean, Ann--" He choked on the words. "You came here of your ownfree will? You deliberately planned Mrs. Ames' murder?"
"She was dangerous, Max. She guessed too much. We knew that when wemonitored the call you made from the spaceport. But in the beginningwe weren't going to make you responsible. We thought the strangers inthe house--your attempt to expose the other woman who called herselfMrs. Ames--would be enough to get you committed to a clinic. I didn'twant you to be hurt, Max."
"Why, Ann?" His voice was dead, emotionless.