Bester, Alfred The Stars My Destination

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nothing. What happened?"
"Fourmyle," Olivia said wearily, "I'll concede that you're
amusing, original, witty, fascinating . . . anything, if you will only go
away."
He stumbled off the dais. "Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. No. She's the
dream just as I dreamed her. The icy pinnacle to be stormed and
taken. To lay siege - invade. . . ravish. . . force to her knees. . ." He
came face to face with Saul Dagenham.
He stood paralyzed, coercing blood and bowels.
"Ah, Fourmyle," Presteign said. "This is Saul Dagenham. He can
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only give us thirty minutes and he insists on spending one of them
with you."
"Does he know? Did he send for Dagenham to make sure?
Attack. Toujours de l'audace. What happened to your face,
Dagenham?" Fourmyle asked with detached curiosity.
The death's head smiled. "And I thought I was famous.
Radiation poisoning. I'm hot. Time was when they said 'Hotter than
an pistol.' Now they say 'Hotter than Dagenham.'" The deadly eyes
raked Foyle. "What's behind that circus of yours?"
"A passion for notoriety."
"I'm an old hand at camouflage myself. I recognize the signs.
What's your larceny?"
"Did Dillinger tell Capone?" Foyle smiled back, beginning to
relax, restraining his triumph. "I've outfaced them both. You look
happier, Dagenham." Instantly he realized the slip.
Dagenham picked it up in a flash. "Happier than when? Where
did we meet before?"
"Not happier than when; happier than me." Foyle turned to
Presteign. "I've fallen desperately in love with Lady Olivia."
"Saul, your half hour's up."
Dagenham and Presteign, on either side of Foyle, turned. A tall
woman approached, stately in an emerald evening gown, her red hair
gleaming. It was Jisbella McQueen. Their glances met. Before the
shock could seethe into his face, Foyle turned, ran six steps to the first
door he saw, opened it and darted through.
The door slammed behind him. He was in a short blind
corridor. There was a click, a pause, and then a canned voice spoke
courteously: "You have invaded a private portion of this residence.
Please retire."
Foyle gasped and struggled with himself.
"You have invaded a private portion of this residence. Please
retire."
"I never knew. . . Thought she was killed out there. . . She
recognized me..."
"You have invaded a private portion of this residence. Please
retire."
"I'm finished . . . She'll never forgive me . . . Must be telling
Dagenham and Presteign now."
The door from the reception hall opened, and for a moment
Foyle thought he saw his flaming image. Then he realized he was
looking at Jisbella's flaming hair. She made no move, just stood and
smiled at him in furious triumph. He straightened.
"By Cod, I won't go down whining."
Without haste, Foyle sauntered out of the corridor, took
Jisbella's arm and led her back to the reception hall. He never
bothered to look around for Dagenham or Presteign. They would
present themselves, with force and arms, in due time. He smiled at
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Jisbella; she smiled back, still in triumph.
"Thanks for running away, Gully. I never dreamed it could be so
satisfying."
"Running away? My dear Jiz!"
"Well?"
"I can't tell you how lovely you're looking tonight. We've come a
long way from Couffre Martel, haven't we?" Foyle motioned to the
ballroom. "Dance?"
Her eyes widened in surprise at his composure. She permitted
him to escort her to the ballroom and take her in his arms.
"By the way, Jiz, how did you manage to keep out of Couffre
Martel?"
"Dagenham arranged it. So you dance now, Gully?"
"I dance, speak four languages miserably, study science and
philosophy, write pitiful poetry, blow myself up with idiotic
experiments, fence like a fool, box like a buffoon . . . In short, I'm the
notorious Fourmyle of Ceres."
"No longer Gully Foyle."
"Only to you, dear, and whoever you've told."
"Just Dagenham. Are you sorry I blew your secret?"
"You couldn't help yourself any more than I could."
"No, I couldn't. Your name just popped out of me. What would
you have paid me to keep my mouth shut?"
"Don't be a fool, Jiz. This accident's going to earn you about
17,980,000."
"What d'you mean?"
"I told you I'd give you whatever was left over after I finished
'Vorga'."
"You've finished 'Vorga'?" she said in surprise.
"No, dear, you've finished me. But I'll keep my promise."
She laughed. "Generous Gully Foyle. Be real generous, Gully.
Make a run for it. Entertain me a little."
"Squealing like a rat? I don't know how, Jiz. I'm trained for
hunting, nothing else."
"And I killed the tiger. Give me one satisfaction, Gully. Say you
were close to 'Vorga.' I ruined you when you were half a step from the
finish. Yes?"
"I wish I could, Jiz, but I can't. I'm nowhere. I was trying to pick
up another lead here tonight."
"Poor Gully. Maybe I can help you out of this jam. I can say . . .
oh - that I made a mistake - . . or a joke . . . that you really aren't Gully
Foyle. I know how to confuse Saul. I can do it, Gully . . . if you still love
me."
He looked down at her and shook his head. "It's never been love
between us, Jiz. You know that. I'm too one-track to be anything but a
hunter."
"Too one-track to be anything but a fool!"
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"What did you mean, Jiz . . . Dagenham arranged to keep you
out of Couffre Martel. . . You know how to confuse Saul Dagenham?
What have you got to do with him?"
"I work for him. I'm one of his couriers."
"You mean he's blackmailing you? Threatening to send you back
if you don't . . ."
"No. We hit it off the minute we met. He started off capturing
me; I ended up capturing him."
"How do you mean?"
"Can't you guess?"
He stared at her. Her eyes were veiled, but he understood. "Jiz!
With him?"
"But how? He-"
"There are precautions. It's . . . I don't want to talk about it,
Gully."
"Sorry. He's a long time returning."
"Returning?"
"Dagenham. With his army."
"Oh. Yes, of course." Jisabella laughed again, then spoke in a
low, furious tone. "You don't know what a tightrope you've been
walking, Gully. If you'd begged or bribed or tried to romance me. . . By
God, I'd have ruined you. I'd have told the world who you were . . .
Screamed it from the housetops . . .
"What are you talking about?"
"Saul isn't returning. He doesn't know. You can go to hell on
your own."
"I don't believe you."
"D'you think it would take him this long to get you? Saul
Dagenham?"
"But why didn't you tell him? After the way I ran out on you . . ."
"Because I don't want him going to hell with you. I'm not talking
about 'Vorga.' I mean something else. PyrE. That's why they hunted
you. That's what they're after. Twenty pounds of PyrE."
"What's that?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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