The Ganymede Club (27 page)

"Is Conner Preston dead?"

"Yes."

"How did he die?"

The impassive face frowned, and his mouth opened without making a sound. Lola cursed her own stupidity. His block against providing some particular piece of information was still effective, and she should not be testing it here. Until she was in a position to employ psychotropic drugs, she should do nothing at all that might weaken her control.

"Stand up, Jinx." And, as he came slowly to his feet, "Everything is fine. We are going back to my apartment. Do you remember the way?"

"Yes, I remember." His face and voice lacked expression, but that should not matter—no one would be likely to speak to them, and Lola could make sure that they kept clear of other travelers.

"Good." She reached out to take his hand, then changed her mind. She did not want to touch those fingers. "I want you to take us back to my apartment. You lead the way, and I will follow you. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I understand." He began to move off, slowly, but with no hesitation.

Walking close behind him, Lola realized that her troubles were not over. They were just beginning.

There would be no sleep tonight. And maybe not tomorrow night, either. Until she found a permanent way to deal with Jinx Barker, she would have to remain close to him and hold him under her personal control—forever.

17

Lola sat in her office chair, nerving herself for the final step. She had spent the whole night getting ready and still she felt unprepared. Jinx Barker sprawled next to her, the telemetry sensors already in position on his body. All she had to do now was administer the rest of the psychotropic drugs and instruct the computer to seek synthesis.
All she had to do.

Provided that you accepted the idea of haldane infallibility, it sounded easy. A haldane was cool, nerveless, always in control of herself at the same time that she controlled others. A haldane felt no emotions of her own. She was not allowed to look down at the man beside her, remember him as a warm, tender lover, and weep for the bright future prospect that last night had turned to ashes. The heart of a haldane could not break.

Most of all, though, a haldane was not permitted to be afraid.

Yet there was good reason for fear. Before she could induce synthesis, Jinx Barker would have to be released from his mental bonds. If he were insufficiently sedated, Lola could then be within his grasp in two seconds.

She told herself again that he was not a patient, that he did not have to be treated with the same consideration as a patient. Then she did what no self-respecting haldane would ever do: She went across to the chair and taped Jinx Barker to it, hand and foot.

That should provide physical security. Still she hesitated. There remained the fear of touching his mind, of the awful things that she might find within it. She could not forget the look on his face as he smiled down at her, just before his kisses had closed her eyes.

Lola took a deep breath. As a haldane, she should be used to meeting the unspeakable. And if she did not act soon the psychotropic drugs would pass their peak of effectiveness.

She spoke the release sequence, gave the signal for the computer to proceed at once—before she had a chance to change her mind—and lay back in her chair.

She had not been able to force herself to place the sensor cups over her own eyes. Although that omission ruled out any possibility of derived reality, she felt that she had to watch every movement of his body. If he somehow broke the tape and came toward her . . . His eyes were hidden by sensor cups, but she knew the exact moment when he became conscious. There was a brief jerk upward of his head, and before it seemed possible he was flexing his arms and legs, testing his bonds.

The most frightening thing was his silence. He did not grunt, or groan, or ask, "Where am I?," as Lola felt sure she would have done. Instead, he rapidly dipped his head down and to one side, to bring his mouth into contact with the tape holding his wrists. His teeth were already tearing the broad strip free when the rest of the drugs hit home. Lola shared his dizziness through the telemetry, and felt a sudden and disorienting burst of rage.

"Relax, Jinx Barker." She watched closely as his body came upright and he slowly leaned back in the chair. The tension went out of his muscles. So far, so good—she had physical control.

The next stage would be more difficult. If she probed too hard and drove him beyond sanity, she could share the descent into madness. "Jinx Barker, I am going to ask you a series of questions. Do not be afraid to say that you do not know an answer, or cannot answer. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"I am Lola Belman. Were you going to kill me after we left The Belly of the Whale?"

"Yes."

"Why?" (Bad question: Even under the influence of powerful drugs, a human could offer self-serving answers. Anything that she asked should permit only a simple yes or no reply.) "Ignore that question. Did you expect to enjoy killing me?"

"Yes."

The calm certainty of the reply came with a deep, visceral rush of sensual excitement. It made Lola shudder, but she forced herself to go on. "Were you going to kill me simply because it would give you pleasure?"

"No."

"Were you
ordered
to kill me?"

"Yes."

"Tell me the name of the person who ordered you to kill me."

"Alicia Rios."

The answer threw Lola into a spin. She had expected the name of a sick and angry patient, or perhaps someone close to a patient, like the boyfriend of the man who had committed suicide. But Alicia Rios? She had to grope around inside her head before she could even identify the name. That was the person at the party, the tiny, exquisite woman with dark hair and eyes, whom Jinx Barker had identified as a member of the Saturn exploration families. Alicia Rios had walked up to Lola and examined her closely. That had seemed odd at the time, but why would a woman who hardly knew Lola want to
kill
her? It made no more sense than that Jinx Barker would try to kill her.

Or as much sense. If Jinx were working for Alicia, then maybe Alicia . . .

"Did Alicia Rios receive her instructions to have me killed from someone else?"

"I don't know."

"Do you
think
she received her instructions from someone else?"

"Yes."

"Do you know that other person's name?"

"Yes."

"What is the name?"

"Jeffrey Cayuga."

Things had gone from perplexing to ludicrous. At least Alicia Rios had a face to go with the name. Cayuga was certainly a name—a famous name, from the first human Saturn expedition. But that had been
Jason
Cayuga. Jeffrey Cayuga, his descendant, hadn't even been at the First Family party—he had been off on some expedition, millions or billions of kilometers away. Lola felt sure that she had never met him in her whole life.

One more try.

"Did Jeffrey Cayuga receive his instructions from someone else?"

"I don't know."

"Do you
think
he received his instructions from someone else?"

"I don't know."

Dead end. She would have to abandon the yes-and-no technique, even at the risk of being misled. "Do you know why Alicia Rios was interested in me?"

"Yes."

"Tell me why."

"Because of information that you had obtained as a haldane."

Progress. "Was it information that I had obtained from one of my patients?"

"Yes."

"Which patient?"

"Bryce Sonnenberg."

Lola had sensed the answer before it came. Sonnenberg's case had baffled and tormented her for weeks, but she knew nothing in him or his past that might explain murder.

"Were you instructed by Alicia Rios to find out about Bryce Sonnenberg?"

"Yes."

"And were you—" Lola faltered. The next step seemed so logical, yet so preposterous. "And were you instructed to kill him, also?"

"Yes."

With that answer came a terrible fear: "Have you done it?"

"No."

"
Will
you do it?"

"Yes."

Not
maybe,
or
If I can
, or
If I am released.
Just the bald reply, and with it the wave of total confidence from the chair next to her.

"Do you know
why
you are supposed to kill me and Bryce Sonnenberg?"

"Yes."

"Why, then?"

"To make sure that you do not speak to anyone about what you know."

"What do we know?"

"I don't know."

Lola repressed a hysterical groan. He was ready to kill her and Bryce for whatever it was that they thought she knew, while she was absolutely sure that she knew nothing that could matter to them. It was another dead end, and she was forced to rely on a murderer's answers to save herself.

"Do you know why Alicia Rios employed you for this?"

"No."

"Can you suggest a reason why she might have?"

"Yes."

"What is the reason?"

"I have done work for her before."

"Similar work?"

"Yes."

"You mean"—she had to make absolutely sure—"you have
killed
people for Alicia Rios?"

"Yes."

Lola went cold. She had slept with a professional assassin, been driven giddy with excitement by a killer's lovemaking, fallen asleep snug in a murderer's arms. The next question didn't seem to have much to do with anything, but she had to ask it.

"Do you kill people with—with your bare hands?"

"Yes." Again the surge came through the telemetry, an ecstasy so strong it was almost pain.

Physician, heal thyself.
Lola fought for self-control. There was nothing in haldane training to prepare her for this. She had to bring them back to objective issues or go crazy.

"Does Alicia Rios live on Ganymede?"

"Yes."

"Is she on Ganymede at the moment?"

"Yes."

"Do you know her address, and how to get there?"

Two questions in one—something that you were taught not to do in the first haldane instruction course. But he was answering: "Yes."

"Tell me how to get there."

As he gave directions, in the clear and matter-of-fact manner that had impressed her the first time they met, Lola wondered what she was going to do with the information.

Call Alicia Rios? Hardly. How were you supposed to begin the conversation? "Hello, I understand that you gave orders for me to be killed, and I want to ask you why." That seemed like a certain way to make sure that Rios sent a second murderer, to try again where Jinx Barker had so far failed.

A knock on the outer door of her office, coming just when that thought of a possible other killer was already in her head, brought Lola rigidly upright in her chair. She heard the outer door open, then a click as it closed. It was self-locking. As soft footsteps moved through the entrance hall toward the inner office door, she stared wildly around her, wondering how to defend herself.

Someone tapped on the inner door. Lola jumped to her feet—did killers knock to announce their arrival? Who knew what killers might do, when killers could also be lovers? Her relief, when the inner door opened and Bryce Sonnenberg's face appeared, was so great that her knees buckled and dropped her back into her seat.

"Bryce!"

"I'm sorry." He did a double take at the sight of the man lying full-length in the patient's chair. "But you did say to come first thing in the morning, so I did." He noticed the tape on Barker's wrists and ankles. "I didn't mean to interrupt you, and I did knock on the door before I barged in. I'd better go now. Call me when you're ready to see me."

"No!"
Lola jumped up and grabbed his arm. Since the first session she had regarded Bryce Sonnenberg as not much more than a kid—a strange and troubled one, with a changing personality that was still hardly formed, so that even though he was tall and strongly built, he seemed far younger than she was. But now she was vastly comforted by his deep chest and the heavy muscles in the arm that she was holding.

"Don't leave, Bryce. Whatever you do, don't leave. This involves you as much as me." And, when he stared at her in open disbelief, "It does, it really does. Give me one more minute; then I'll explain."

She bent over Jinx Barker, making sure that the tapes were securely in place, then commanded the computer to end synthesis and place him into sedated-care status. The computer recordings would all be filed away, so that she could perform a later analysis of the session. Meanwhile, with nutrients provided by IVs and all body functions monitored, he should be quite safe. A patient could remain in sedated care for a long time—if need be, for weeks.

But time alone would not solve the problem of Jinx Barker.

"Sit down, Bryce, and listen closely. You're not going to believe this at first, but let me tell you everything before you start asking questions."

She read him the summary of her interaction with Jinx Barker all the way from the beginning, when "Conner Preston" had taken an office along the corridor and had first showed up in her office, to last night's realization of what was about to happen, and then to this morning's questioning.

"Does it mean anything to you?" she asked at last.

He hardly needed to answer. Although at the talk of murder his expression had changed—becoming at first startled and then somehow older and more guarded—he had shaken his head when she mentioned Jinx Barker, Alicia Rios, and Jeffrey Cayuga.

His reaction to her question came as a surprise to Lola. He rubbed at his nose for a moment, then went off in another direction completely: "He was ordered to kill you and me. Who else was he told to kill?"

It was a question she had not thought to ask, and for the moment it was too late. Jinx Barker was under deep sedation.

"What makes you think there might be somebody else involved?"

"Logic." He grinned at her, unmoved by the news that he was on a murderer's victim list. "Or maybe I should say, lack of logic. If there's no reason at all for killing you or me, there's just as much no-reason for killing someone else.
Anyone
else."