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CHAPTER TWELVE
CAPTAIN PETER Y'ANG-YEOVIL was handling reports at Central Intelligence Hq. in London at the rate of six per minute. Information was phoned in, wired in, cabled in, jaunted in. The bombardment picture unfolded rapidly.
ATTACK SATURATED N amp; S AMERICA FROM 6o° TO 1200
WEST LONGITUDE.. . LABRADOR TO ALASKA IN N. . . RIO
TO ECUADOR IN S … ESTIMATED TEN PER CENT (10%)
MISSILES PENETRATED INTERCEPTION SCREEN … ESTIMATED POPULATION LOSS: TEN TO TWELVE MILLION
«If it wasn't for jaunting,» Y'ang-Yeovil said, «the losses would have been five times that. All the same, it's close to a knockout. One more punch like that and Terra's finished.»
He addressed this to the assistants jaunting in and out of his office, appearing and disappearing, dropping reports on his desk and chalking results and equations on the glass blackboard that covered one entire wall. Informality was the rule, and Y'ang-Yeovil was surprised and suspicious when an assistant knocked on his door and entered with elaborate formality.
«What larceny now?» he asked.
«Lady to see you, Yeo.»
«Is this the time for comedy?» Y'ang-Yeovil said in exasperated tones. He pointed to the Whitehead equations spelling disaster on the transparent blackboard. «Read that and weep on the way out.»
«Very special lady, Yeo. Your Venus from the Spanish Stairs.»
«Who? What Venus?»
«Your Congo Venus.»
«Oh? That one?» Y'ang-Yeovil hesitated. «Send her in.»
«You'll interview her in private, of course.»
«Of course nothing. There's a war on. Keep those reports coming, but tip everybody to switch to Secret Speech if they have to talk to me.»
Robin Wednesbury entered the office, still wearing the torn white evening gown. She had jaunted immediately from New York to London without bothering to change. Her face was strained, but lovely. Y'ang-Yeovil gave her a split-second inspection and realized that his first appreciation of her had not been mistaken. Robin returned the inspection and her eyes dilated. «But you're the cook from the Spanish Stairs! Angelo Poggi!»
As an Intelligence Officer, Y'ang-Yeovil was prepared to deal with this crisis. «Not a cook, madam. I haven't had time to change back to my usual fascinating self. Please sit here, Miss . . . ?»
«Wednesbury. Robin Wednesbury.»
«Charmed. I'm Captain Y'ang-Yeovil. How nice of you to come and see me, Miss Wednesbury. You've saved me a long, hard search.»
«B-But I don't understand. What were you doing on the Spanish Stairs? Why were you hunting…?»
Y'ang-Yeovil saw that her lips weren't moving. «Ah? You're a telepath, Miss Wednesbury? How is that possible? I thought I knew every telepath in the system.»
«I'm not a full telepath. I'm a telesend. I can only send.. . . not receive.»
«Which, of course, makes you worthless to the world. I see.» Y'ang-Yeovil cocked a sympathetic eye at her. «What a dirty trick, Miss Wednesbury to be saddled with all the disadvantages of telepathy, and be deprived of all the advantages. I do sympathize. Believe me.»
«Bless him! He's the first ever to realize that without being told.»
«Careful, Miss Wednesbury, I'm receiving you. Now, about the Spanish Stairs?»
He paused, listening intently to her agitated telesending: «Why was he hunting? Me? Alien Be… Oh God! Will they hurt me? Cut and… Information. I…”
«My dear girl,» Y'ang-Yeovil said gently. He took her hands and held them sympathetically. «Listen to me a moment. You're alarmed over nothing. Apparently you're an Alien Belligerent. Yes?»
She nodded.
«That's unfortunate, but we won't worry about it now. About Intelligence cutting and slicing information out of people…that's all propaganda.»
«Propaganda?»
«We're not maladroits, Miss Wednesbury. We know how to extract information without being medieval. But we spread the legend to soften people up in advance, so to speak.»
«Is that true? He's lying. It's a trick.»
«It's true, Miss Wednesbury. I do finesse, but there's no need now. Not when you've evidently come of your own free will to offer information.»
«He's too adroit . . . too quick . . . He…”
«You sound as though you've been badly tricked recently, Miss Wednesbury. . . Badly burned.»
«I have. I have. By myself, mostly. I'm a fool. A hateful fool.»
«Never a fool, Miss Wednesbury, and never hateful. I don't know what's happened to shatter your opinion of yourself, but I hope to restore it. So you've been deceived, have you? By yourself, mostly? We all do that. But you've been helped by someone. Who?»
«I'm betraying him.»
«Then don't tell me.»
«But I've got to find my mother and sisters . . . I can't trust him any more. . . I've got to do it myself.» Robin took a deep breath. «I want to tell you about a man named Gulliver Foyle.»
Y'ang-Yeovil at once got down to business.
«Is it true he arrived by railroad?» Olivia Presteign asked. «In a locomotive and observation car? What wonderful audacity.»
«Yes, he's a remarkable young man,» Presteign answered. He stood, iron gray and iron hard, in the reception hall of his home, alone with his daughter. He was guarding honor and life while he waited for servants and staff to return from their panic-stricken jaunte to safety. He chatted imperturbably with Olivia, never once permitting her to realize their grave danger.
«Father, I'm exhausted.»
«It's been a trying night, my dear. But please don't retire yet.»
«Why not?»
Presteign refrained from telling her that she would be safer with him. «I'm lonely, Olivia. We'll talk for a few minutes.»
«I did a daring thing, Father. I watched the attack from the garden.»
«My dear! Alone?»
«No. With Fourmyle.»
A heavy pounding began to shake the front door which Presteign had closed.
«What's that?»
«Looters,» Presteign answered calmly. «Don't be alarmed, Olivia. They won't get in.» He stepped to a table on which he had laid out an assortment of weapons as neatly as a game of patience. «There's no danger, my love.» He tried to distract her. «You were telling me about Fourmyle. . . .»
«Oh, yes. We watched together . . . describing the bombing to each other.»
«Unchaperoned? That wasn't discreet, Olivia.»
«I know. I know. I behaved disgracefully. He seemed so big, so sure of himself, that I gave him the Lady Hauteur treatment. You remember Miss Post, my governess, who was so dignified and aloof that I called her Lady Hauteur? I acted like Miss Post. He was furious, father. That's why he came looking for me in the garden.»
«And you permitted him to remain? I'm shocked, dear.»
«I am too. I think I was half out of my mind with excitement. What's he like, father? Tell me. What's he look like to you?»
«He is big. Tall, very dark, rather enigmatic. Like a Borgia. He seems to alternate between assurance and savagery.»
«Ah, he is savage, then? I could see it myself. He glows with danger. Most people just shimmer . . . he looks like a lightning bolt. It's terribly fascinating.»
«My dear,» Presteign remonstrated gently. «Unmarried females are too modest to talk like that. It would displease me, my love, if you were to form a romantic attachment for a parvenu like Fourmyle of Ceres.»
The Presteign staff jaunted into the reception hall, cooks, waitresses, footmen, pages, coachmen, valets, maids. All were shaken and hang-dog after their flight from death.
«You have deserted your posts. It will be remembered,» Presteign said coldly. «My safety and honor are again in your hands. Guard them. Lady Olivia and I will retire.»
He took his daughter's arm and led her up the stairs, savagely protective of his ice-pure princess. «Blood and money,» Presteign murmured.