F Paul Wilson - LaNague 02 (19 page)

           
He held up
his bogus identity card. “I’m doing a series of articles on psi-schools for the
Risden News Service. The piece I’m currently working on concerns psi-school
dropouts, and I understand there was a dropout when you were dean. Now, I was
wondering if you could tell me–”

           
“Why, of
course!” Howell beamed. “I’ll be glad to help. Come right over and we’ll talk
about it.”

           
“I really
haven’t got too much time left on Jebinose,” Easly protested. “If you could
just answer–”

           
“I’ll be
home all day,” the man said, smiling. “You can drop by anytime.” With that, he
cut the connection.

           
Easly
debated his next move. Howell obviously wanted to get him over to his home.
Why? Was he lonely? Or didn’t he want to discuss anything over the phone? Or
was there another reason?

           
He decided
to go. There were a few unanswered questions here that would nag him
incessantly if he did not make at least one attempt to answer them.

           
“AH! SO YOU
DECIDED to come after all!” Jacob Howell said as he opened the door to his
modest apartment. It was immaculate. The walls were studded with plaques,
degrees, and testimonials; the furnishings were simple and functional. A holo
of a middle-aged woman was affixed to the wall above the vid screen.

           
A quick
glance around and Easly had a capsule description of the man: a retired
academic, a widower, somewhat compulsive in his habits, lonely. He welcomed Easly
warmly. Any company, even that of strangers, was better than sitting alone.

           
“Please
have a seat and let me get you a cool drink,” Howell said.

           
Easly
demurred and tried to get to the point. “There was a student named–”

           
 
“No names, please,” Dr. Howell said, raising
both hands before him. “I was dean of the psi-school for nearly forty years and
only one child dropped out. I will discuss the matter with you freely, but
without the use of a name.”

           
Definitely
compulsive, Easly thought.

           
“I assure
you the article will not name names, but I do need to know some specifics.”

           
“Of course.
Well, I’ve been going over the incident in my mind since your call. It’s not
something one would easily forget. Nasty business, that.”

           
“What do
you mean?”

           
“Well,
little Can–” He stopped short. “I mean, the boy we’re discussing got into an
argument with another little fellow – it was in the telekinesis lab, I think –
and the other boy died right there on the spot. It was a shocking incident. The
boy you’re interested in – let’s call him ‘Master X,’ shall we? – apparently
blamed himself and refused to set foot inside the school again.”

           
“What did
the other boy die of?”

           
Howell
shrugged. “We never found out. His parents were from the farm region and were
devout members of the Heavenly Bliss sect – we had a lot of them on Jebinose,
you know – and they refused to allow an autopsy. It’s part of the Heavenly
Bliss canon that the human body not be willfully mutilated, neither before
birth, during life, nor after death.”

           
“There are
plenty of non-invasive methods of determining the cause of a death.”

           
“These were
employed, of course, and nothing beyond a previously known congenital heart
defect was uncovered. That was assumed to be the cause of death. It was
probably the excitement of his argument with Master X that triggered it, and of
course one couldn’t lay any blame on the little fellow. But you couldn’t
convince him of that, however. He considered himself responsible and never
wanted to come back.”

           
“Congenital
heart defect?” Easly’s tone was dubious. “That’s ancient history. Nobody walks
around with something like that any more.”

           
“He does
when his parents refuse to consent to surgery… mutilation, you know. If the
same thing happened today, there would be an autopsy, Heavenly Bliss sect or
not. But we weren’t as well organized then as we are now. I wish we could have
insisted on an autopsy, then little Master X would have been spared such a
burden of guilt. I seem to remember that he showed promise. Such a shame.”

           
“Would you
happen to know what he’s doing nowadays?” Easly asked.

           
Howell
shook his head. “No, I never kept track of him. To be perfectly frank with you,
I tried to forget the whole matter as soon as possible.”

           
Easly
digested what Howell had told him for a few minutes, then rose. “Thank you for
your time, Dr. Howell. You’ve been most helpful.”

           
“You
mustn’t leave yet!” Howell said, leaping to his feet. “There’s a lot more I can
tell you about psi-schools. I can prepare an early supper and fill you in on
many operational details that may prove very useful as background material.”

           
“Some other
time, perhaps,” Easly said, reaching for the door. “I’m on a very tight
schedule now, really.”

           
“Stay and
have a drink, at least.”

           
Easly
begged off and slipped out the door. As he walked down the hall he could feel
the lonely old man’s eyes on his back. He felt guilty. All Dr. Howell wanted in
return for his information was a little companionship. But companionship meant
time, and time was something in short supply at the moment.

           
The sum
total of Larry Easly’s instincts and training was prodding him to leave
Jebinose immediately, but he shrugged it off. He was hooked now and couldn’t
run out just yet. He had the tantalizing feeling that all the pieces were here
and that a nice coherent picture would be formed if he could arrange them in
the proper light. He started laying them out for examination.

           
DeBloise
was terrified of Proska; Proska was a psionic talent of some sort. Those two
could be accepted as fact.

           
Now for a
little extrapolation: A little boy at psi-school had died during an argument
with Proska and Proska had refused to return to the school because of guilt.
Why so much guilt? Unless he knew he had killed the other boy!

           
Could Cando
Proska kill with his mind? Was that why he inspired such fear in deBloise? Was
it that plus some very sensitive knowledge that had enabled him to extort a
house and probably a yearly income from deBloise for the last seventeen years?

           
Seventeen
years… the Vanek Equality Act had passed almost seventeen years ago –

           
The
subconscious correlation his mind had made back at the
Data
Center
suddenly bobbed to the
surface: Junior Finch was murdered on this planet seventeen years ago!

           
There were
too many seventeens involved here to be written off as mere coincidence:
deBloise’s political career took a sharp upward turn seventeen years ago with
the passage of the Vanek Equality Act; Junior Finch was murdered while working
among the Vanek seventeen years ago; Cando Proska, a man who might have the
ability to kill with his mind, stopped working for a living seventeen years ago
and started blackmailing deBloise.

           
It all fit!

           
No, it
didn’t. The Vanek killed Junior… they admitted it openly. And Vanek never lie.
Or did they? It was also generally conceded that Junior’s death merely
increased the margin by which deBloise’s pet Equality Act was passed. So
deBloise had nothing to gain from Junior’s death. Or had he?

           
By the time
he reached the roof, he knew where he was going. Not the spaceport… he had just
two more stops to make before the spaceport: The first, his hotel room; the
second, Danzer.

           
DARK HAD
FALLEN by the time he reached Danzer and there was a different Vanek sitting
cross-legged inside the circle this time. A small flame sputtered before him
and cast a wan glow on his features. This one was younger-middle-aged, Easly
guessed – with a spot of dark blue pigmentation on his forehead. This Vanek
would no doubt be as informative as the last one, but Easly had secured a small
vial of gas from his hotel room, something to give him a conversational edge
over the Vanek.

           
“Wheels
within wheels, bendreth,” the beggar greeted him.

           
“Wheels
within wheels, yourself,” Easly muttered as he squatted before him.

           
“Have you
come again to meditate on our friend, Junior Finch?”

           
Easly
started. “How did you know I was here before?”

           
“We know
many things.”

           
“I’ll bet
you do. Right now I’d like to meditate on someone else. I us name is Cando
Proska. Know him?”

           
The
beggar’s eyes remained impassive. “We know Mr. Proska, but we do not fear his
power.”

           
The
directness of the response surprised him. “What power?”

           
“The Great
Wheel imparts many powers in its turning. Mr. Proska possesses an unusual one.”

           
“Yes, but
just what is his power?”

           
The beggar
shrugged. “Wheels within wheels, bendreth.”

           
Here we go
again, Easly thought, and reached for a cigar. But there was a subtle
difference here. Yesterday’s beggar had an air of tranquility about him; he had
sensed an innate passivity about that one. Today’s beggar was something else
entirely. Outwardly, he looked like a quiet, removed, contemplative sort. But
Easly sensed that this was a thin veneer under which churned a very purposeful
being. There was power here, and determination.

           
This
creature was not at all like a Vanek should be.

           
He took his
time lighting the cigar. By the time the tip was glowing a bright red, both he
and the beggar were enveloped in a cloud of strong-smelling smoke. This was the
effect he desired, for he had removed the small gas vial along with the cigar
and now had it palmed against his thigh and pointing toward the Vanek. A flick
of his index finger opened the cock and the colorless contents streamed out.

           
Easly held
his breath and waited for the vial to empty. It contained a powerful cortical
inhibitor that worked as a highly effective tongue-loosener on humans. The gas,
kelamine, was not entirely odorless, however, thus the improvised smoke screen.
He had taken a considerable risk by traveling with kelamine. It was illegal on
most planets – Jebinose included – and mere possession could result in
imprisonment. There were no physical or mental after effects, but its use was
classified as “chemical assault.”

           
A vial was
kept hidden in his luggage at all times for use in extreme circumstances. This
was such a circumstance. He could only hope that the half-breed Vanek nervous
system was human enough to respond to the gas.

           
When the
vial was empty, he slipped it back into his pocket and allowed himself to
breath again.

           
“What is
Proska’s power?” he asked again.

           
“Wheels
within wheels, bendreth,” came the standard reply.

           
Easly
cursed softly and was about to get to his feet when he noticed the beggar begin
to sway.

           
“I am
dizzy, bendreth. I fear it is the smoke you make.”

           
“Very
sorry,” Easly said with the slightest trace of a smile. A mild dizziness was
the drug’s only side effect. He ground the cigar out in the dirt.

           
“Perhaps
you misunderstood my question,” he said carefully. “I want to know what kind of
power Mr. Proska possesses.”

           
“It is a
power of the mind,” the Vanek said, and put a finger to his forehead.

           
Now we’re
getting somewhere!

           
AN HOUR
LATER EASLY returned to his flitter and took to the air. Even with the help of
the kelamine, it had been hard work to pull any concrete information out of the
Vanek; their minds work in such a circumspect manner that he almost had to
start thinking like one before he could get the answers he wanted.

           
But Easly
had his answers now and his new-found knowledge made him set a course for the
spaceport at full throttle. His luggage was still at the hotel, and as far as
he was concerned, it could stay there. There was only one thing he wanted now
and that was to get off Jebinose.

           
His
expression was grim as he dropped the flitter off on the rental platform and
went to secure a seat on the next shuttle up. The mystery of Junior Finch’s
death and Proska’s diabolical psi-talent had been cleared up. He shuddered at
the thought of running into Proska now. The little man was no mere psi-killer
as Easly had originally suspected. No, what Cando Proska could do to a man was
much worse.