The Devil's Eye ab-4 Read online

  When I got back to the hotel, Alex looked up from a cup of the local brew and, with one of those complacent expressions, asked where I'd been. "Just out walking." He examined his cup and studied the notebook that lay on his lap. "Did they agree to dismantle the gear at the grave site?" While I was considering my answer, he said I was just in time to go with him to meet with the organizer of a local reading club. His name was Dolf, and he was waiting for us at the Boldinai Point Library. It was next door to the city hall. We went in and found him talking with one of the librarians. We did a round of introductions, then he led us to a room that served as a small auditorium.

  He was a former police officer, and he admitted to having served during Bandahriate days. "But we weren't doing any of the stuff here that was going on in other places," he said. "We wouldn't have allowed it." He was one of the tallest people I've ever seen, his height accentuated by a pronounced lankiness. He'd been blond at one time, but his hair was going gray. He wore a thick, unkempt mustache, and his eyes possessed the shrewdness of a professional cardplayer. He was well along in years and told us that horror fiction was one of those forbidden delights that made his life a pure pleasure. "Did you know in advance Vicki Greene was coming?" Alex asked. He was obviously not sure why we were asking the questions. I thought he'd mistaken us for a couple of fans. "No. Not really. We only found out a couple of days before she got here. We were notified, I think, by one of the book dealers in Korimba. He called the Graveyard-" "The graveyard?" I asked. "Graveyard Books. Our own shop." "Oh." "My understanding," he continued, "is that Korimba heard it from somebody at Spirit." "The distributor," said Alex. "Yes." "How did you actually connect with her? With Ms. Greene?" "We had no code and couldn't find a listing for her. But we knew when she was coming so we staked out the hotels. And Amelia, Louie Black's wife, spotted her walking into the lobby of the Hamel." He sat back and looked immensely pleased with himself. "She let us take her to lunch. Right over there." He pointed across the street to a modest caf . The Tomb. "They put a couple of tables together." He corrected himself. "I don't mean she let us buy." "Of course." "We wanted to. But she insisted on paying her own." "How'd she seem?" "She's a funny lady. Doesn't take herself seriously. And, man, she sure likes her dessert." He apparently hadn't heard the news yet. "Dolf, do you know how long she stayed at the Point?" "Three or four days. Why do you ask?" Alex hesitated, then told him what had happened. He listened, shook his head, seemed genuinely saddened. "Did she tell you where she intended to go when she left here?" He shook his head. "No. I can check with the others. See if she might have mentioned it to any of them." "Okay. Yes, I'd appreciate it if you did that. Did you see her at all after the lunch?" "No." He didn't need to think about it. "No. Next we heard, she was gone." "Did she tell you why she'd come here?" "Sure." The smile came back. "She said she wanted to meet Barryman."

  Dolf called back that night. He'd talked with the others. "When she left here," he said, "she told a couple of our people she was going to Bessarlik." "Bessarlik? What's that?" He laughed. We didn't know? "It's the Haunted Forest."

  TEN

  My advice to you, Grimly, is to do the sensible thing: Hide.

  - Etude in Black

  Living in a different world always takes some adjustment. Your weight is usually different. Not by a lot, but it's amazing what the sudden acquisition or loss of a few pounds can do. Time is inevitably a problem. It's never been possible, despite some effort, to standardize the measurements. Hours on Salud Afar are longer than at home, and minutes are shorter. I won't try to explain that. Suffice it to say that a day in Boldinai Point, defined as a complete turn on the planetary axis, is almost two standard hours longer than the one we were accustomed to. The result was that our sleeping patterns quickly went berserk. The biggest adjustment, though, was the food. Most of it was unfamiliar and tended to be flat. We stuck as closely as we could to items that were at least reasonable facsimiles of what we got on Rimway. Nobody cares about the details of any of this, but the reader should be aware that when I refer, say, to bacon or eggs, I'm not really talking about the home-grown stuff so much as an approximation. And the coffee, by the way, never really got close. We were finishing a pseudobreakfast next morning when Alex got a call. "Mr. Benedict?" "Yes."

  "Mr. Benedict, I'm calling for Dr. Wexler."

  "Who?"

  "Dr. Mikel Wexler. He's with the history department at Marikoba University. He'd like very much to have a few moments of your time. Will you be available later this morning?"

  "What does Dr. Wexler want to talk about?"

  "I believe it has to do with Vicki Greene."

  "I'm available now."

  "He's in conference at the moment, sir. Would ten o'clock be satisfactory?"

  We did a quick search on Wexler. He was one of the heroes of the Resistance, the underground movement that had fought Cleev's government for years. He'd been captured, tortured, and eventually broken out by his comrades in a celebrated escape. When the Coalition came to power, he took up a teaching career, and was now chairman of the history department at Marikoba. He was the author of Rebel on the Shore , an account of those turbulent years. And served as an occasional advisor to Administrator Kilgore. Alex took an hour to read sections of the book. "I'll say one thing for him," he said. "He gives most of the credit to other people." We took the call in one of the hotel's conference rooms. Alex introduced me as his associate, and Wexler commented gallantly that he wished he had so lovely a partner. Usually that kind of comment puts me on guard, but he seemed sincere. He was a congenial guy, almost leisurely, but there was something in his eyes that suggested you wouldn't want him angry. And his manner implied that he understood his likeness would one day join the statues of the heroes in Marinopolis. He spoke with the assurance of someone accustomed to making decisions. And I could see that he worked out. He had thick gray hair and the kind of chiseled features that suggest an inner strength. He was, I thought, the kind of guy I'd want at my back if I got in trouble. "If you don't mind my saying so," he continued, "I think this young lady has played a major part in your success."

  I probably blushed. "You're absolutely correct," said Alex. "Don't know what I'd do without her." There was another minute or so of social fencing. Then Wexler came to the point: "I just found out the other day about Vicki Greene. It's a pity. What on earth would possess her to do such a thing?"

  Alex gave the standard reply: "It was what we hoped to find out." "Yes. I wish you luck." His brow furrowed. "Did you expect to find the answer on Salud Afar?" "Don't know."

  "If you don't mind my asking-"

  "Go right ahead, Dr. Wexler."

  "Mikel, if you please. You might consider me something of a fan. I'm curious how this became of interest to you."

  Alex told him about the message.

  They're all dead. "Who's all dead?"

  "We have no idea."

  "What a strange, cryptic business. So how do you plan to proceed, if you don't mind my asking?"

  "We thought we'd begin by following in her footsteps."

  "I suppose that's as good a course as any."

  I noticed a cane propped against the side of Wexler's chair. A souvenir, perhaps, of Cleev's dungeons. "Mikel," said Alex, "what's your connection with her?" "I met her at Samuels. When she was leaving."

  "You knew her, then?"

  "I knew her from her pictures. I've been one of her readers since she started her career. I don't usually admit that, but-Well, anyhow, I knew she was in the area and that she was about to leave." He was seated in a dark blue fabric chair. Behind him, two windows opened out onto what was probably the university campus. "I arranged to be on the station." "Did you get a chance to talk with her?"

  "Yes. For a few minutes."

  "How did she seem?"

  "How do you mean?"

  "Did she seem upset? Depressed?"

  "Not at all. She wasn't what I expected. I thought someone who wrote horror books would be-Well, you know. But she wasn't like th
at. Not at all." He smiled. "She was a witty woman. I pretended I just happened to be there, of course, and asked if she was really Vicki Greene. You know how that goes. So we got talking, and she let me buy her a drink."

  "May I ask what you talked about, Mikel?" The smile widened. "How much she enjoys writing sequences that'll scare the daylights out of the reader. She actually giggled when she described how she sits there and reads the really inflammatory passages to herself. Out loud." He shook his head. "What a loss." They were both silent for a minute. Then he continued: "I'm glad you're looking into it. I think there are a lot of us who would like to know why she would do such a thing. But I must admit to being curious. You've come so far. Did the family engage you to pursue this?"

  "No," said Alex. "She asked for help. I felt an obligation."

  "Of course. Well, I certainly hope you can come up with an answer."

  Alex leaned forward. "Mikel, are you aware of anything unusual that might have happened to her while she was here?" "No," he said. "Of course we didn't talk long." He picked up his cane. Held it across his knees. "Had anything happened while she was here, the media would certainly have picked it up."

  "We checked the archives. There was nothing."

  "Then I would say nothing happened. She's a major celebrity, Alex. Even out here. Her books sell on every continent. People love her. I'm reluctant to say this because you've come so far, but I'd be very surprised if, whatever drove her to do what she did, won't eventually be traced to some family or personal problem back home. A love affair gone wrong, possibly. Something along those lines."

  "You're probably right, Mikel." Alex looked my way. "Did you have anything, Chase?"

  "Yes," I said. "Mikel, may I ask why you contacted us?"

  "I heard from several sources that you were inquiring about Ms. Greene. I was interested in why she might have done what she did." He smiled. "Besides, it was an opportunity to meet you and Alex. I enjoy meeting celebrities."

  "Before we leave for the Haunted Forest"-Alex could not suppress a grin-"I've something to show you." "And what's that?" "Take a look." He darkened the room, and we were gliding toward a mountain range. It was the middle of the evening, the sun below the horizon, lights just coming on. "Towns," I said. "Is there something special about them?" "It's the Homeworld Security Project," said Alex. "Which is what?" "I told you about the Mute incidents." "Yes." "They're taking it pretty seriously." We pulled in closer to some of the lights. Near the base of a mountain, I saw digging equipment. And temporary dwellings. "What are they doing?" I asked "Digging shelters." "What? You're kidding." "Not at all. It's described as a purely precautionary measure." "Things haven't deteriorated that much, I hope." "I don't know. It's hard to be sure what's really going on." It looked like a major project. Cutters and extractors were out in force. Lots of lights, robots everywhere, even a few humans. And, of course, they were working at night. "This is only one site. Apparently, this is going on around the world." "I wasn't aware of it." "We haven't been paying attention. They're digging into mountains. Or, more precisely, getting ready to." "They really expect an attack from the Mutes?" "Apparently. They're not making a lot of noise about it. The Administrator was on earlier this morning, talking about how they don't ever expect to have to use the shelters, but it's better to be prepared." "If the Mutes were to attack in force, I don't think a few holes in the ground would be much help." "I agree." "So what's really going on?" "It might be politics." "How do you mean, Alex?" "We're into an election cycle. Administrator Kilgore is running for reelection." "He might want to look as if he's protecting everybody." "That's a possibility." He looked worried. "There's something you're not telling me," I said. "The activity started within the last five months. The incursions. The Homeworld Security Project." I knew where he was going. "It all started right after Vicki left."

  ELEVEN

  We're adrift in an ocean of the mind. Our lives consist primarily of navigating through shoals and storms, enjoying the experiences of a thousand ports, putting landing parties ashore on strange islands, taking

  visitors aboard, and dropping anchor occasionally to bask in the sunlight. The destination is of no consequence.

  - Love You to Death

  A funny thing happened on the way to the Haunted Forest. Getting there involved a flight across the Crystal Sea. We leased a skimmer from Reliable Transport and headed out. It was one of those brilliant, pleasant summer days, with the sting of salt in the air and a sense of approaching fall. Armies of white clouds drifted through the morning sky. A few fishermen were out. I watched one who'd netted something and was about to shoot it with a long-barreled scrambler. We sat back, enjoying the ride. The AI kept us steady at about a thousand meters. Alex was in the midst of wishing he'd left me behind because somebody should be running the business. It was a mistake just to close up for three months and invite our clients to go elsewhere. I was half-listening, wondering what Ben was up to, thinking what an idiot's chase we were involved in, when the AI lit up. "Chase," she asked, "do you have a minute?" It's never good news when an AI in a taxi or a leased vehicle starts a conversation with you in the middle of a flight. It's usually to inform you that the main axle has fallen off, that rough weather lies ahead, or that you're over the storied volcano, Mt. Boombashi, at a bad time. "Yes, Lyra, what is it?"

  "I seem to have lost control of the vehicle."

  "That can't be right," I told Alex. We were still moving steadily ahead. I adjusted my seat, sliding it closer to the instrument panel, and released the yoke. "Okay, Lyra," I said, "can you turn over control to me?"

  "Negative, Chase. I am disconnected. I do not understand it."

  "What's going on?" asked Alex. "Don't know. Something's flying-Whoop!" We started to accelerate, then to drop. And I don't mean descend . The antigravs shut off, and the only thing keeping us aloft was the stubby wings, which provided some lift but not nearly enough. We were sliding down that pleasant summer sky. I pulled the yoke back, but nothing happened. "You still have control," I told Lyra. "Turn loose."

  "I do not have control."

  The ocean was coming up fast. If I'd had time, I'd have ripped the AI out by the roots and tossed her over the side, but it probably wouldn't have helped anyhow. There was nothing at that point except to hang on to the stick. Then, without warning, the engines went to neutral, the antigravs cut back in, and we leveled off. We rolled in over the surface. It was smooth as glass. We were maybe ten meters off the water. I could see waves, not much more than ripples. They drifted past. The yoke moved around as if it weren't connected to anything. "I'm declaring an emergency," Lyra said. "Send the call."

  "I will if I can."

  We started to climb. "Thank God," said Alex. "You've got it now?" "No," I growled. And to demonstrate the point I banged the yoke with an open hand.

  "Unable to transmit, Chase."

  "Can you turn the radio over to me?"

  "Negative. I get no reaction from it."

  I tried to switch it on. Nothing happened. We were still going up. Accelerating again. "Chase." Alex was hanging on to his chair. "Do something."

  I was pressing pads and hitting switches. When none of that worked, I went looking under the panel for something that might allow me to gain control of the aircraft, some sort of emergency board or cutoff switch. I wasn't familiar with that type vehicle, had in fact never seen the make before. At three thousand meters, we leveled off. But we were moving like a bandit. And while I played around in the cabin, the thing began to shake. Violently. "It's coming apart," Alex said. He was speaking through clenched teeth. "What's happening?" "Going through the sound barrier." I couldn't get any kind of response out of the damned thing. "I didn't think these things could go that fast." I was waiting for the wings to come off. "Apparently some makes can." Then we were through it. The rattling and banging stopped, and we were flying free again. "Good, Chase," he said. "Now can you slow it down? And get us to land?" As if some unseen force had answered, the drive shut off. We began
to lose acceleration. The antigravs kept us aloft as we bounced and clattered back through the sound barrier. I was still strangling the yoke, trying to pull the nose of the skimmer up by sheer physical force. "I am still off-line," said Lyra. Me, too, kid.