World of Chance

Chapter XI

Peter wakeman had made a mistake.

He sat for a long time letting this realization seep over him. With shaking fingers he got a bottle from his luggage and poured himself a drink. There was a scum of dried-up protine in the glass. He threw the whole thing into a dis­posal slot and sat sipping from the bottle. Then he got to his feet and entered the lift to the top floor of the Luna resort.

Corpsmen were relaxing in a tank of sparkling blue water. Above them a dome of transparent plastic kept the fresh spring-scented air in, and the bleak void of the land­scape out. Laughter, the splash of lithe bodies, the flutter of colour, the texture of bare flesh, blurred past him as he crossed the deck.

Rita O'Neill was sun-bathing a little way beyond the main group of people. Her sleek body gleamed moistly in the hot light. When she saw Wakeman she sat up quickly, her black hair cascading down to her ta

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

Wakeman threw himself down in a deck chair. "I was talking to Shaeffer," he said, "back at Batavia."

Rita took a brush and began stroking out her cloud of hair. "What did he have to say?" she asked, as casually as she could. Her eyes were serious.

Wakeman allowed the warmth to lull him to silence. Not far off, the crowd of frolicking bathers splashed and laughed and played games. A shimmering water-ball lifted itself up and hung like a sphere before it plunged down into the grip of a Corpsman. Against her towel, Rita's body was a dazzling shape of brown and black, supple lines of flesh moulded firmly into the charm of youth.

"They can't stop him," Wakeman said at last. "He'll be here not long from now. My calculations were wrong."

Rita's eyes widened. She stopped brushing, then started again, slowly and methodically. "Does he know Leon is here?"

"Not yet. But it's only a question of time."

"And we can't defend him here?"

"We can try. Perhaps I can find out what went wrong. I may get more information about Keith Pellig."

"Will you take Leon somewhere else?"

"This is as good a place as any. At least there aren't many minds to blur sca

Rita slipped on a robe, tied a sash around her slim waist and dug her feet into boots. "How long before he gets here?"

"We should start getting ready. Things are moving fast."

"I hope you can do something." Rita's voice was calm, emotionless. "Leon's resting. I made him lie down."

Wakeman lingered. "I did what I thought was right, but I must have forgotten something. We're fighting something much more cu

"You should have let Leon run things," Rita said. "You took the initiative out of his hands. Like Verrick and the rest of them, you never believed he could manage. You treated him like a child, and he gave up and believed it himself."

"I'll stop Pellig," Wakeman said quietly, "before he gets to your uncle. It's not Verrick who's ru

"It's too bad," Rita said, "that Moore isn't on our side."

"I'll stop him," Wakeman repeated. "Somehow."

Rita disappeared down a ramp leading to Cartwright's private quarters. She didn't look back.

Keith Pellig climbed the stairs of the Directorate building with confidence. He walked swiftly, keeping up with the fast-moving crowd of classified bureaucrats pushing into the lifts, passages and offices. In the main lobby he halted to get his bearings.

In a thunderous din alarm bells sounded throughout the building. The milling of officials and visitors abruptly ceased. Faces lost their friendly lines and in an instant the easy-going crowd was transformed into a suspicious, anxious mass. From concealed speakers harsh mechanical voices proclaimed:

"Everyone must leave the building!" The voices shrilled up deafeningly. "The assassin is in the building."

Pellig lost himself in the swirling waves of men and women. He edged, darted, pushed his way into the interior of the mass, towards the labyrinth of passages that led from the central lobby.

A scream—someone had recognized him. A blackened, burned-out patch as guns were fired in panic. Pellig escaped and continued circling warily, keeping in constant motion.

"The assassin is in the main lobby!" the mechanical voices blared. "Concentrate on the main lobby."

"There he is!" a man shouted. Others took up the roar "That's him, there!"

On the roof of the building the first wing of military transports was settling down. Soldiers poured out and began descending in lifts. Heavy weapons and equipment appeared, dragged to lifts or grappled over the side to the ground.

At his screen, Reese Verrick pulled away briefly and said to Eleanor Stevens: "They're moving in non-telepaths. Does that mean——"

"It means that the Corps has been knocked out," Eleanor answered.

"Then they'll track Pellig visually. That'll cut down the value of our telepathic machinery."

"The assassin is in the lobby!" the mechanical voices roared above the din. Soldiers threw plastic cable spun from projectors in an intricate web across corridors. The excited officials were herded towards the main exit. Out­side, more soldiers were setting up a cordon of men and guns.

But Pellig wasn't coming out. He started back once—and at that moment the red button jumped, and Pellig changed his mind.

The next operator was eager and ready. He had every­thing worked out the moment he entered the synthetic body. Down a side corridor he sprinted, easily clearing an abandoned gun wedged in the passage.

"The assassin has left the lobby!" the mechanical voices bawled.

Troops poured after Pellig as he raced down corridors, cleared of officials and workers, but Pellig thumb-burned his way through a wall and into the main reception lounge, now empty and silent. The synthetic body skimmed from office to office, a weaving darting thing that burned a path ahead. The last office fell behind and Pellig stood before the sealed tank that was the Quizmaster's i

"The assassin is in the i

Pellig raced in an uncertain circle—and again the red button shone.

The new operator staggered, crashed against a desk, pulled the synthetic body quickly to its feet, and then began to burn his way to the side of the rexeroid tank.

In his office, Verrick rubbed his hands with satisfaction. "Now it won't be long! Is that Moore operating?"

"No," Eleanor said, examining the indicator board. "One of his staff."

The synthetic body emitted a supersonic blast. A section of the rexeroid tank slid away, and the concealed passage lay open. The body hurried up the passage without hesitation. Under its feet gas capsules popped uselessly. The body did not breathe.

Verrick laughed like an excited child. "They can't stop him! He's in!" He leaped up and down and pounded his fists on his knees. "Now he'll kill him. Now!"

The rexeroid tank, the massive i

Verrick squealed a high-pitched, frenzied curse. "He's not there! He's gone! They got him away!"

At his own screen Herb Moore convulsively jerked con­trols and lights, indicators, meters and dials, flashed wildly. Meanwhile, the Pellig body stood rooted in the deserted chamber. There was the heavy desk Cartwright should have been sitting at but he wasn't there.

"Keep him looking!" Verrick shouted. "Cartwright must be somewhere!"