High-Opp

Chapter 11

On the forty-seventh day following his low-opp, Movius received orders to report to Bu-Trans. The orders came out in the District Circular without any special notice attached to them.

Movius stood in the hidden room, the paper in his hands. “They want to bring me out in the open and knock me over,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”

Grace, working with the duplicator on the table they had installed in a corner of the room, missed catching a card as the machine disgorged it. The other cards piled up, jamming, until she shut down the machine.

Quilliam London, who always seemed to make it a point to be present when Grace was in the room, sat on Movius’ cot, writing in a notebook. “We’ve made good preparations, he said. “Gerard has heard reports about you which make him practically drool. You’re the answer to his dreams.”

Movius balled the District Circular into a crumpled wad, threw it into the corner.

“It’s not the ALP,” said Quilliam. “It’s Bu-Trans.”

“Target practice for The Coor’s thuggees,” said Movius.

“It’s early yet,” said Quilliam London. “You and Grace had better go down to District Housing and ask for quarters.”

Movius stared at him. “Why, I hadn’t…”

“You’ll have to make it look good,” said London. “They won’t be expecting you to come right out there tonight.” There was a touch of grimness at the corners of his lean mouth. “The honeymoon is over.”

The transport whined to a stop at the corner, waited while the morning’s human cargo jostled and pushed abroad, a mood of impatient anger about them. The standard aroma of the standard breakfast puffed out on their breaths. Another LP, Daniel Movius, allowed himself to be crushed into the transport, found a space as far back as he could push. Furtive glances at his companions showed nothing he could mark as unusual. He could only assume that Bu-Con and The Coor had not had men watching District Housing, that they had not expected a hunted man to come out openly and register.

It had been a strange experience at District Housing. The clerk, with that nervous officiousness of those with petty powers, had grumbled about his paper work, assigned them quarters half a mile from Quilliam London’s apartment. Grace had held Movius’ arm as they’d stood there. When they were back in the street, she’d said, “We’d better go out there now. Get off the streets.”

It was a standard Warren apartment—F5MC—floor 5, married couple. Two rooms nine by ten, double bed, sitting room with couch and chair, standard wall TV, collapsible table and a smoking stand. The bathroom was four by four, closet five by four. More space for the wedded; marriage had to have some advantages.

Movius tested the springs on the couch. “It’ll do. You take the bedroom.”

Grace opened the door between the rooms, suddenly fled into the bedroom. Movius caught a fleeting glimpse of her contorted face; he jumped up, followed. “What’s wrong?”

She was drying her eyes on a corner of a blanket. “Nothing.”

“Well, it’s obviously something.”

“I guess it’s just that this is so different from what I’d imagined.” She looked around her with an empty expression.

Movius found himself remembering the wedding ceremony, his desperate feeling of wrongness. “I’m sorry. I guess there are some things we didn’t consider.”

“Such as?” She sniffled.

“Human feelings maybe.” He shrugged. “But it can’t be helped.” He felt like an executive telling his secretary he was sorry she couldn’t have the night off but there was all this work to do. He remembered all the hours Grace had worked beside him, ignoring obvious fatigue. Movius walked into the bedroom, patted her shoulder, “Believe me, if there was some other way…”

She pulled away and suddenly, without warning, turned on him, eyes glittering with tears. “Of course there’s no other way as long as you’re filled with hate for that egotistical drive for revenge.” She fell silent, put a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

Again he had that feeling of being cheated, of missing something. Rather stiffly, he said, “I thought it was what you wanted, too.”

Grace looked at the floor, turned her back on him. “Yes, of course.”

He stepped closer, disturbed, put his hands on her shoulders. Her hair gave off a faint fragrance. The memory of that tremulous kiss came back to him. She leaned back slightly against his hands, just a faint pressure. It was enough. He had an abrupt, glaring touch of insight, thought, Great Roper! She’s in love with me! The thought made him drop his hands, pull away. There she was, vital certainly, but really on the plain side, much too thing-featured and intense, like the ones he saw sitting in the parks on festival days, listening to ancient music. The wrong kind of fire inside to attract him. It was tragic when he thought about it.

He said, “These aren’t times for anything but hate.”

She sighed. “No. I guess not.”

They had gone to their separate rooms, Movius to twist and turn on the too-short couch, tortured by one word in Grace’s accusation—egotistical. He thought, All I want is a clean government for everyone. And far back in his mind something sniggered and said, “With you at the top!”

The transport turned on the parkway—Government Avenue—began making frequent stops to disgorge writhing blobs of workers. Movius saw his stop coming, worked his way forward, was squeezed out with the rest into the chill morning air.

There was the building: Bu-Trans. A towering concrete hive, its tiled floors clicking to purposeful feet. A container for efficient scurrying hither and yon, papers clutched in hands. Machines clacking and buzzing, pneumo-tubes whacking out their cartridges with more bits of paper. A sum total of officiousness.

Movius joined the inbound stream of workers, broke away in the cavernous lobby to go to the window labeled STARTING CLERK. The clerk’s tired eyes peered out of a steel wicket. “Name and number?”

“Daniel Movius, 662843509, LP.”

The clerk turned to check the records. Movius leaned on the counter to wait, became conscious of two men, one standing on either side of him. Something hard pressed against his left side. He looked down, saw a fap gun in the hand of the man on his left.

“Daniel Movius?” asked the one of the right.

“Yes.” Movius looked at the man, mind churning. This was what he had feared. He said, “Why?”

“We’ll ask the questions.” The man began patting Movius’ pockets, stooped to feel along his legs. Presently, he stood up, said, “He’s not carrying it.”

The pressure was removed from Movius’ left side.

“Where’ve you been, Movius?” asked the man on the right.

“With my wife,” said Movius, forcing his voice to remain even and questioning. “We’ve been on our honeymoon. I…”

The starting clerk returned to the window. “You report to Department CR-14.” He suddenly noticed the two men beside Movius. “You must take your places in line,” he said. “We serve everybody in his proper turn.”

The man on the right flashed a badge and identification card. “Bu-Con,” he said. “This man is a fugitive from work report.”

The clerk gave a glance to the badge and card, glanced down to papers he held in his hand. “I don’t see how that can be. I have his work order here in my hand. It came through yesterday. He’s reporting well within the forty-eight-hour limit.” The clerk reached out, grasped Movius’ thumb, held thumb and papers under the facsimile-eye on his counter. “Same man.”

“We’ll tell you if it’s the same man or not,” said the one on Movius’ right.

The clerk leaned forward, said, “Look, bull-con, I’ve identified this man as one assigned to CR-14. I’m going to call them upstairs and report what’s going on.” He pulled a phone from beneath the counter, put it to his ear.

The man on Movius’ left rested his fap-gun on the counter, said, “Put away the phone, sonny.”

“If you pull that trigger, the guard in our tower will drop you in your tracks,” said the clerk. “We don’t trust you bull-con illegitimates over here in Bu-Trans.” He bent over the phone. “Get me Mr. Gerard, will you, beautiful? I’ll wait.”

“Movius is going with us,” said the man on the right.

“That may be,” said the clerk. “But I’m reporting this to the top all the same.” Again he moved the phone closer to his mouth. “Mr. Gerard?” He waited. “Mr. Gerard? This is Bailey downstairs. Daniel Movius, the new CR-14, just reported and there are a couple of bull-cons here threatening to take him away on a charge of failure to report.” A rasping sound issued from the phone. “Sure it’s a phony,” said the clerk.

The man on Movius’ right said, “Let’s go.” He took Movius’ arm, turned him around. “Out the door and don’t give us any trouble.”

The clerk tipped the phone away from his mouth. “The big boss says for you to wait.”

“We don’t take our orders from your boss,” said the one with the gun.

The clerk reached under the counter. A clanging crash sounded from the front doors as a steel barrier dropped. “You’re not going anywhere,” said the clerk. “Not unless you happened to bring an oxy-torch in your side pocket.”

The man with the gun looked to his companion. “We can’t do it in here,” he said. “They’d blast us first and ask questions later.”

“I’m thinking,” said the other man.

They mean to kill me! thought Movius. He suddenly slashed his right hand down at the gunman’s wrist, heard the gun clatter on the floor. Almost in the same motion, he brought up his left thumb, jamming it behind the other man’s ear, saw him collapse. Again he thanked fate for the years spent in the privileged gymnasiums, for Okashi’s patient teaching. The gunman was bending to pick up his weapon. Movius stepped back half a step, kicked the man alongside the head. The man sprawled forward onto his face. Movius stooped, picked up the gun, walked back to the clerk’s window. “They were going to kill me,” he said.

The clerk was speaking rapidly into the phone. “Yes. Now he has the gun… Well, I don’t really know. It happened so fast I couldn’t follow it… Yes, I’ll have him sent right up… Yes, it’s the same man for CR-14.”

Movius put the fap gun on the counter. “What do I do with this?”

“Leave it right there,” said the clerk. “I’ll give it to him when he wakes up. You’re to report to the big boss.” He leaned through the wicket, pointed to his left. “Take that elevator all the way to the top—seventy-first floor. They’re expecting you.” He shook his head. “Man! That was beautiful.”

The elevator let him out in a penthouse office, sunlight glaring into the place from too many windows. A male receptionist built like a Roman gladiator, even to the beaked nose, said “You the one snowed under the two bull-cons?”

Movius nodded.

The Roman gladiator hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Go right in. You’re welcome.”

Venetian blinds made the inner office gloomy after the reception room. Gerard, a frail-bodied man with a bald head two sizes too large for his body, was sitting with his back to the door, speaking into a Dictaphone. As Movius entered, he put down the Dictaphone, swiveled his chair. Gerard had dishwater blue eyes with lids which gave the impression of a chicken’s nictating membrane.

“Well, so you’re…” Gerard stopped, stared intently at Movius. “I should pay more attention,” he said. “I didn’t put the name and face together.” He sat back, waved Movius to a chair across from him. “You’re the Daniel Movius who went out with Liaison a month or so ago.”

“That’s right.” Movius dropped into the chair.

Gerard wriggled in his chair and a glistening reflection of him in the polished surface of the desk matched the movement. “What happened?”

What could he tell this man? Movius wondered. Gerard was one of the top twenty-five in government and, by all the stories, a powerful and ruthless man. Movius decided on partial truth, said, “The Coor wanted my fiancée.”

“Oh?” Gerard’s voice became distant.

Movius wondered if he had overplayed his hand, cursed himself for not thinking twice. Both Quilliam London and O’Brien had said Gerard hated The Coor, though.

“The Coor, eh?” said Gerard.

“Glass didn’t realize I was tired of her and looking for a way out,” said Movius. “When he took her off my hands, I married the woman I wanted.”

Gerard leaned forward, a half-smile on his face. “What’s this about failing to report?”

Play it cautiously, thought Movius. “I’m sure I don’t know,” he said. “I waited until my number came up—I saw it last night—and reported as soon as I could.”

Gerard leaned back, pulled a phone from a recess in his desk, spoke into it. “Get me old owl guts Addington at Bu-Con.”

It’s what O’Brien and London said, thought Movius. They hate each other at the top.

Gerard stretched the muscles of his neck, wriggled in his chair. “Hello, is that you, owl guts?” he asked. “This same to you. What do you want with my new CR-14, Daniel Movius?” He waited, jerked his head up, glancing furtively at Movius. “Is that so? Well, that’s penalty service. What was the charge?” Another wait. “Can’t find it, eh? Maybe you’d better learn how to keep records over there.” Gerard wore a fierce grin. “Sure, I know where he is. He’s sitting right across from me… Sure, you can question him; right here in my office and no place else. And that’s final.” He paused listening, put a hand over the mouthpiece. “Somebody’s just telling him about his two flunkies you messed up.” Gerard turned back to the phone. “He did? Well isn’t that a shame? Why don’t you patch them up and bring them along for another go at him?” Gerard listened, said, “Goodbye, owl guts,” slammed down the receiver. He turned the fierce grin on Movius. “If you’re clean, Movius, I’ll throw everything I have behind you. I like nothing better than cobbing old owl guts. But you’d just better be clean. They won’t dare touch you if I’m behind you.”

I only hope you’re right, thought Movius. He said, “I don’t know what the hell this is all about.”

“They’re on their way over,” said O’Brien.

Movius framed a mental picture of Addington going to the elevator, riding down, getting into his car, driving the two blocks to Bu-Trans, coming up the elevator here. Almost to the second when he felt they should arrive, Gladiator ushered the visitors into Gerard’s office. Addington did look like an owl—fat, dumpy body, round face, horn-rimmed glasses and a thin, pinched nose. He was accompanied by two men. With a start, Movius recognized a murderous glare. The other was an aide carrying a bulging briefcase.

“Before we get off to any wrong starts,” said Gerard, “maybe I should remind everybody that no one gets out of this building alive without my say-so.” He rubbed a hand across his bald head.

Addington sat down with a grunt, popped a white lozenge into his mouth. “Save the drama for those who appreciate it, bulb head.” The two aides remained standing. Addington had not shown that he even knew Movius was present. Suddenly, he whirled on Movius, said, “What we really want you for is murder!”

Movius did not have to feign surprise. He looked from Addington to Gerard, back to Addington. “This is fantastic. I’ve been on my honeymoon. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Without taking his eyes from Movius, the Bu-Con chief reached up to his aide, took the briefcase, opened it on his lap. From the case he pulled a paper, glanced at it. “On the eve of Mid-summer Festival, you, Daniel Movius, in the company with another man as yet unidentified, did accost Howell Pescado and Birch Morfon in the Richmond Warrenate. You and companion did then attack Mr. Pescado and Mr. Morfon with such violence that Mr. Pescado died. You then stole Mr. Pescado’s gun and with it did wound Benjam Rousch, who had stopped to investigate the disturbance.”

Movius shook his head. “I’ve never heard of these people. I’ve never been in such a fight.”

Gerard leaned forward. The reflected image on the desk surface darted with him. “To hell with a street brawl! What’s this about Dan failing to report for the ALP?”

Movius noted the use of his first name and knew the familiarity was aimed at making Addington unsure of their relationship.

Addington flushed, spoke without looking up from the paper. “That was an error. He is not wanted on such a charge.”

Gerard said, “Oh?” He leaned back, turned to Movius. “Did you knock over this Pescado?”

“No.”

“You say you’ve been on your honeymoon,” said Addington. “Isn’t it a fact that you were hiding out instead?”

“Hiding from what?” asked Movius. He shrugged. “I have been staying pretty close to my bride, of course; except to come out and register my opps.”

Addington hunted through the briefcase, extracted another paper. “That’s another thing, Movius. You registered opps everywhere from Killson Warrenate to Lascadou.”

“Is there a law that says you have to register some special place?” asked Movius.

“You were never in these places,” said Addington.

“How do you know?” asked Movius.

“Because we…” Addington broke off.

Movius smiled. He thought of Gerard’s obvious hate for this man, decided to burn his bridges and play all out for Gerard. It was not difficult to put hate into his tone. “Look, you fat son-of-a-bitch!” he barked. “I’ve had all I’m taking from you! I’ve spent twelve years in the service of the government. Never once taken my off-time, always registered my opps, kept my nose clean. Two of your trained hounds put a gun on me downstairs and talked about killing me. I don’t know why I’m your target, but I’m telling you now to look out!” He glanced at the man he had thumbed. The aide had been edging toward Movius. “And if your brother here moves another inch toward me I’ll wipe up this office with him!” The aide took another involuntary step backwards.

“Put up or shut up,” said Gerard. “Unless you can prove your charges, I’m backing Dan all the way.”

Movius took a deep breath.

Addington glared at Gerard. “I have two witnesses.”

“No good.” Gerard shook his head. “Your friends know too much about lying. This has to be tied down with fingerprints, full laboratory evidence.”

“I saw him myself!” raged Addington.

“You’re an even bigger liar,” said Gerard.

Addington’s face went purple. “I suppose Movius has been put through ocamine so he can take a lie-detector test without a quiver?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Gerard. “LD evidence won’t hold with me, anyway.” Gerard was obviously enjoying himself.

Addington leaned forward, face flushed. “You know this man is guilty! You’re just aiding him to spite me! I’m warning you…”

A buzzing sounded from beneath the desk, interrupting him. Gerard answered his phone, passed it across to Addington. “It’s for you, owl guts.”

Addington snatched the phone, said, “Yes, this is Addington.” He listened, smiled. “You have? Well, hold her there.” He passed the phone back to Gerard, still smiling, turned to Movius. “We have your bride. You’re coming with us now or else.”

Movius felt himself go almost blank. It was as though he watched another man rise slowly from his chair, take two steps toward Addington. The aide moved to cut him off.

“Movius!” It was Gerard’s voice.

The sharp tone of command restored some of Movius’ control. I got Grace into this, he thought. I can’t let them harm her. What can I do?

“Well?” asked Addington.

Movius fought to control his thoughts. How can I fight them? A desperate gamble flashed through his mind. He turned, walked around behind Gerard’s desk. From an inner pocket he withdrew his stylus, unscrewed the back cap, exposing the sharp edge of the re-load. Grasping Gerard’s hand, he made a short scratch on the back.

“Ouch!” Gerard put the hand to his mouth, darted his other hand toward a pocket.

Movius shook his head, put the stylus to his mouth, blew on it. Quietly, he capped the stylus, waited while he counted silently to fifteen. Addington and his aides were staring at him puzzled.

“I have just released a quantity of high-dispersion poison gas in this room sufficient to kill five hundred people,” said Movius. “Mr. Gerard and myself are immunized. In thirty minutes you three will die in agony, every muscle of your bodies tearing violently.” He put the stylus back in his inside pocket.

Addington jumped to his feet, leaned across the desk, bellowed at Gerard, “Stop this madman!”

Gerard leaned back. “Why should I? I won’t be harmed.”

One of Gerard’s hands remained beneath the desk. “And if you make a move to come around this desk, you’ll die much more quickly.”

“You have thirty minutes in which to bring my wife up here unharmed,” said Movius. “In fact, if the antidote is to have the time to work, you have less than that. About fifteen minutes is all.”

Gerard pushed the telephone across the desk. “I’d make the call if I were you.”

“He’s bluffing,” said Addington in a faint voice.

“I wouldn’t count on that,” said Gerard.

“I have heard of such a gas,” said Addington slowly.

“Bu-Trans has many resources,” said Gerard.

“So that’s the way it is?” said Addington. Face pale, he took up the phone. “Get me Pearsons at Bu-Con.” He waited. “Ev, bring the Movius woman over to Bu-Trans right away. Don’t ask questions; just bring her! Come right on up to bulb-head’s office with her.” He slammed the phone onto the desk, sat down.

Gerard quietly replaced the phone on its hook.

“The first thing you notice is your heart beating more rapidly and much stronger,” said Movius. “You become very aware of your heartbeat.”

The aide who had carried the briefcase suddenly paled, swayed, sat down in a hard-backed chair against the wall. He began to draw in deep breaths.

“Some people don’t have as high a tolerance as others,” said Movius. He noticed that both Addington and the other aide were forcing in deep breaths. The seated aide suddenly pitched forward to the floor with a loud thump.

Movius smiled. A little applied psychology plus a weak will equals a fainting spell, he thought. Now they’re convinced.

Addington jumped to his feet. “Give me that antidote! I’m a sick man! I can already feel my heart pounding!”

“When my wife gets here,” said Movius. “Not before.”

“Sit down,” said Gerard. “Exertion only makes the poison work faster.”

Addington slumped back into his chair, fumbled in a pocket, brought out a white pill which he put onto his tongue with a shaking hand. He flopped the pill into his mouth, gulped it. “You’re going to answer for this,” he said. He looked toward the door. “I should have told him to hurry.” He glanced at his wristwatch.

A knock sounded on the door. “Come in,” said Gerard.

The gladiator for the outer office appeared in the doorway, his bulk obscuring the view of whoever was behind him.

“Everybody come in,” said Gerard.

Gladiator stepped into the room, followed by Grace and a chunky, vapid-faced man with sadistic eyes. Grace—wrapped in a blanket, hair disheveled—had a short scratch on one cheek. Her eyes blazed fury. She shook herself free of vapid-face’s detaining hand, suddenly saw Movius. “Dan!”

“Everything’s all right, dear,” said Movius. He went around the desk, put an arm around her shoulders. “Did they harm you?”

She shook her head. “They were searching me.” She turned. “That creature and another one.”

Vapid-face licked his lips. “Nice,” he said, leering at Movius.

“You have your wife,” said Addington. “Give us the antidote.”

“You’re all breathing a poison gas for which Mr. Movius has the only antidote,” said Gerard, looking at vapid-face.

“Well?” said Addington.

“First put all your weapons on Mr. Gerard’s desk,” said Movius.

“See here!” said Addington.

“Do as he says!” barked Gerard, voice harsh.

Movius took out his stylus, made a minute scratch on the back of Grace’s hand, did the same for the gladiator.

“On the desk,” said Movius. He capped the stylus, put it away, began patting Addington’s pockets, stooped to feel along his legs. The Bu-Con chief wore one tiny fap gun strapped to an ankle and two others in pocket holsters. His gunman aide also had one on the ankle and two in the pockets. The clerk had one in a lapel holster. Vapid-face wore a poison dart stutter gun hanging from a shoulder strap inside his suit. A crease concealed the slit by which it could be brought out quickly.

Gerard’s eyes widened when he saw the weapon. “That’s outlawed,” he said.

“So it’s outlawed,” said Addington peevishly. “So’s poison gas.”

Movius put the weapons on the desk. Gerard swept them all into a drawer.

Movius bent over the unconscious clerk on the floor, made a deep slash in the back of the man’s hand with the sharp tip of the stylus. The clerk moaned, began to stir. Movius went to the gunman. Addington stepped forward. “I have to have that immediately!”

“After him,” said Movius.

Addington quivered, his eyes glittering behind the thick glasses.

Movius made a deep slash in the aide’s hand, grabbed Addington’s hand, made an even deeper slash. Vapid-face stepped forward, held out his hand. Movius ignored him, capped the stylus and put it back in his pocket.

“What about me?” the man asked.

Movius turned to Grace. “Are you sure they didn’t harm you?”

She blushed, broke off, and began to cry silently, to bring her hands from beneath the blanket to cover her face.

“What about me?” vapid-face repeated.

Movius’ face hardened. “You don’t get it.”

Addington whirled on Gerard. “You can’t let him just…”

“Dan is one of my most trusted aides,” said Gerard. “I give him a free hand in these matters. If he doesn’t think Ev should live, then I go by his judgment. Personally, I’m inclined to agree with him in this instance.”

Vapid-face pushed through the group, leaned against Gerard’s desk, face contorted. “You can’t do this to me!”

“You’re mistaken,” said Gerard coldly. “We’re doing it.”

The man sank to his knees, clutching the edge of the desk. “Please! Look! I’m begging you!”

Movius suddenly felt sickened.

“Give it to him” said Grace.

The man turned his contorted face toward her. “Thank you.”

Movius brought out the stylus, uncapped it, bent and slashed the kneeling man across the cheek. “I want to recognize you next time! If you so much as look cross-eyed at my wife ever again I’ll get you and you can beg until your voice runs dry!”

Vapid-face stood up, hand against his bleeding cheek.

The clerk on the floor again stirred, lifting his head. He got to his feet, looked around vacantly.

Movius said, “All right, get out of here!”

The gladiator opened the door, stood aside.

Addington turned a measuring stare on Movius. “I’m going to remember your face… personally!”

Gerard leaned forward, his bald head glistening as brightly as the desk top. “Let’s understand something. If anything is done to Dan or his wife because of what happened here, I will consider it was done to me.” His eyes slitted. “If you want open war, owl guts, you’ll get it.”

Without a word, Addington turned, went out, trailed by his three aides. Gerard’s receptionist closed the door.

Movius went to Grace, helped her into a chair, pulled the blanket around her knees. “We’ll send out for some clothes.”

“I’ll get them from our supplies,” said Gerard. He picked up the phone, gave terse orders, replaced the phone. Turning to Movius, he said, “I want you to give the lab the formula for that poison gas and antidote. They could come in handy. And while you’re at it, you could tell me where you got them.”

Movius took out his stylus, tossed it onto the desk. “What poison gas? That’s a standard stylus.”

Gerard picked it up, examined it.

“I once got a nasty scratch from the sharp end of a re-load,” said Movius. “I remembered it and the fact that I’d heard a story about a poison gas. Come to think about it, I read about the gas in one of Navvy’s pop-mags. It was fiction.”

Gerard looked at the scratch on his hand.

“Sorry about that,” said Movius. “That was the convincer.”

Suddenly, Gerard jerked back in his chair, began to laugh. The bellowing of it filled the office. “Ohhhhh,” he said. “Ohhhhh, the look on Addington’s face! Ohhhhh. And the way you made him wait until the last!” It was a full minute before Gerard could control himself. He took out a handkerchief, dabbed at his eyes. “Movius, I would have let you cut half through my hand for that show.” He replaced the handkerchief, sat forward.

Grace was looking from one to the other, puzzled. “What…”

Movius shook his head.

“Movius, I’ve been looking for a man like you for a long time. I saw the sorter card and could see from it that you were good. But that was as resourceful a bit of quick thinking as I’ve ever seen.” Again he chuckled. “I have a little job…”

A knock sounded on the door.

“Yes?”

Gladiator appeared with a bundle. Gerard stood up, went around the desk and took the bundle. The receptionist closed the door. Gerard opened another door in the side wall, revealing a small room with a leather couch. “You can dress in here, Mrs. Movius.”

Grace stood up, pulling the blanket around herself. “Thank you.” She went into the room.

Gerard tossed the package onto the couch, closed the door, returned to his desk, sat down. He took out a handkerchief, patted at the perspiration on his bald head. “You’ve got good taste, Movius.” He put away the handkerchief. “She’s no raving beauty, but she has good looks and personality, the kind that wear well as a wife.” Gerard glanced down to Movius’ stylus on the desk. “Oh, yes—the job.”

Movius hitched his chair closer to the desk.

“Just a minute,” said Gerard. He took the phone, said, “Get me the Sorter cards on Daniel Movius. Bailey has them downstairs.” Presently, something went Pop! under the desk. Gerard reached down, brought up the pneumo-tube cartridge, opened it, pulled out the cards.

“That could be dangerous,” said Movius.

Gerard looked up from the cards. “What?”

“How do you know what’s coming up in that tube?”

Gerard pulled back from his desk, looked under it. “Great Gallup! I never thought of that! It could just as easily be a charge of nitrox!” He moved his chair around beside the desk, went on reading the cards. Presently, he looked up, put the cards on his desk, his expression thoughtful. He ran a hand over his bald head, looked at Movius.

“I was just refreshing my memory. The records show that you ran one of the most efficient departments of the government. Also, you have an extremely high loyalty index.” He looked at the cards. “Extremely high.”

That was the old Daniel Movius, he thought. Now we get the bid for that loyalty.

“I’ve just saved your life,” said Gerard. “Do you know that?”

Movius nodded. “And I may have saved yours.” He looked across the desk toward the hidden tube.

Gerard wet his lips with his tongue. “Exactly. I wasn’t joking when I said I’ve been looking for someone like you. I need a man I can trust like my right arm.”

“Tell me what to do,” said Movius.

Gerard sat back. “In a bureau such as this you sometimes get someone who is overly ambitious.” His expression hardened. “Owl Guts Addington and The Coor are behind the man who heads one of my sections. They hope to put that man in my seat.” He mopped nervously at his bald head. “There have been two attempts on my life.”

“And you want a bodyguard?” asked Movius.

“No, much more than that. You were certified to department CR-14 by the Sorter. I want you to go down there and hang a frame around the neck of the department director. I know you’re the man for the job.”

Why all the praise? wondered Movius. He decided to apply London’s methods, get at what the other man wanted. “What’s so dangerous about the job?”

“Mmmmm,” said Gerard. “You are sharp.” He slapped a hand onto the desk. “All right, here’s the proposition. You’re filling a vacancy in the department caused by the death of the last man I sent down there. He fell down a light well.”

Movius nodded, pointed toward Gerard’s desk drawer. “Let me have that lapel gun.”

Gerard leaned back, opened the drawer, handed gun and holster to Movius.

“What is CR-14?” asked Movius.

“Confidential routing,” said Gerard.

We’re playing it cagey, thought Movius. He said, “Who’s the department head?”

“Rafe Newton. He’s a cousin of The Coor.”

“Nepotism?”

“It sometimes happens,” said Gerard. “I’d boot him in a minute otherwise.” He leaned back, steepled his hands. “No love lost on The Coor, is there?”

Movius shook his head.

“I believe The Coor is heading for a showdown at the time of his major poll this Fall.” Gerard consulted a desk calendar. “That’s October 8, about two weeks away.” He looked up at Movius from beneath his brows. “You were tired of this latest plaything Glass picked up, eh?” Almost to himself he said, “I’ll have to see he finds that out.”

The door to Gerard’s private room swung open. Grace emerged wearing a standard work suit, a little too large for her. The legs had been rolled up.

Without looking at her Gerard said, “You were listening, weren’t you, my dear?”

Grace’s voice had a tone of defiance. “Why not?”

Gerard turned his bald head slowly until he was facing her. “No reason. A wife should take an interest in what’s happening to her husband.” He reached into the desk drawer, withdrew one of the ankle guns, slipped gun and handful of recharges from the holster. Coming around the desk, he displayed the little weapon to Grace. “You slip the re-charge in like this. Then press this to break the seal and put the first pellet in the chamber. This is the safety. When it shows red the gun is ready to fire.” He handed it to Grace, turned toward the open door of his private room. “Put a pellet into the couch there to get the feel of it. I want you to have this gun in case they try to pick you up again.”

Grace lifted the little weapon, squeezed off a single shot. It went fap SPLAT! into the leather couch. She thumbed on the safety, put the gun in her pocket.

Gerard leaned back on his desk. “You’ve fired one of those before.” Suddenly, he bent forward from the hips. “Where?”

Grace looked to Movius, eyes frightened.

“I said where does an LP female learn to shoot a fap gun?” Gerard demanded.

“I showed her,” said Movius.

Gerard continued to stare at Grace. “Where did you get the gun, Movius?”

Here it is, thought Movius. He said, “Off Pescado.”

Gerard whirled toward him.

“He was one of The Coor’s bully boys,” said Movius. “He jumped me the same night I was low-opped. He and two others.”

“You were running away from that ALP wrong rap?”

Movius shrugged. “What else could I do?”

“And they had six weeks to find you and couldn’t? Where’d you hide?” His voice bit off the questions as though he was shooting them from a gun.

Movius nodded toward Grace. “My wife hid me.”

Gerard moved slowly away from the desk, turned to look at Movius. “I understand, that will have to do for now.”

Movius got to his feet.

Gerard looked at the muscular bulk of him, said almost to himself. “I don’t think they’ll be dropping you down any light wells. No, indeed, I don’t.” His eyes stared up at Movius. “You clean this one up and I’ve a better job for you.” He turned, reached across the desk, opened a top drawer, pulled out a green pad. Using Movius’ stylus, he scribbled on it, finished, looked at the stylus and grinned. “Mind if I keep this as a sort of memento?”

“Not at all.”

Gerard pocketed the stylus, handed the note to Movius. “This presented at District Housing will get you an apartment in the privileged section—a special apartment where you’ll be safe. My own quarters are on the roof. I’ll have a car and driver assigned to you. We may as well come out in the open; there’s no way to keep your position secret after what happened today. You’ll go into CR-14 as my man and no questions asked.” Gerard waved a hand. “Take the rest of the day; report in the morning.”

“Will there be any trouble about the special status?” asked Movius. “The Sorter rated me clerk.”

“And I rated you executive assistant,” said Gerard. “That’s a bureau chief’s privilege.”

“Let’s get my duties straight,” said Movius. He looked down at the District Housing order in his hand.

“I don’t want to know what you do,” said Gerard. “You get rid of Newton. Either make it legal or make it look accidental.” He turned to Grace. “I’ll have you taken off the LP rolls.”

“You needn’t bother.”

Movius could tell from her tone that she’d formed a violent dislike for Gerard.

“You’re coming off the rolls anyway,” said Gerard. “Can’t have Dan worrying about his wife. You stick close to the apartment. I’ve a small army of guards on the place. You’ll be safe there.” He turned away, dismissing them.

As they went out the door, they heard Gerard on the phone. “Have a car and driver in the side driveway for Mr. Movius. And send up some building maintenance men. I want my pneumo tube yanked out and re-routed into the outer office.”