A Saucer of Loneliness (25 page)

At last he could see again. He tried to smile at her, the kind of tortured effort that a woman remembers all her life. “So you can come home with me,” he said shakily.

“No, Killy.”

All he did was to close his eyes again.

“Don’t, Killy, please don’t,” she wept. “Listen to me. Understand me. You didn’t make the factor—but someone has. You say there’s no way of knowing whether it’s within you or not. Well, it was there in three men who died, and it may be in you.”

“And it may not,” said Killilea hoarsely. “If not—good. And if it is—do you think I’ve wanted to live, this last year and a half?”

“It doesn’t matter what you want!” she snapped. “Think of me. Think of me, think of yourself dying that way, with me … and each time might be the last, and it would all be a hell where every love-word was a threat.… No, Killy!”

“What, then? What else?”

“You have to stop it. There’s got to be a way to stop it. You have a clue—Landey and Karl and Koala. Think, Killy! What had they in common?”

“You,” he said cruelly.

Any other woman on earth would have killed him for that. But not Prue. She didn’t even notice it, except as part of the subject in hand. “Yes,” she said eagerly. “Why, then? Why me?”

“I wouldn’t know that.” Almost in spite of himself, his brain began to search, to piece, to discard and rematch. “They were all scientists. Well, not Karl Monck. I don’t know—maybe he was a sort of thought-scientist. A human engineer.”

“They were all—good,” she said. “Gentle and thoughtful. They truly cared about people.”

“They were all members of the Ethical Science Board. Pretorio founded it. It’s going to die without them, too.”

“What was it supposed to do?”

“Synthesize. Make people understand science—not what it is, but what it’s for. Make scientists in one branch understand scientists in another—keep them working toward the same ends, with the same sense of responsibility. A wonderful thing, but there’s no one left who has both science and ethics to such a degree that the Board can be anything but a social club.”

Her eyes glowed. This was a thing she could really understand. “Killy, would anyone want to stop work like that?”

“Only a madman. Why, such a Board could—”

“I think I know what it could do. What kind of a madman, Killy?”

He thought about it. “Perhaps the old-time ‘robber-baron’—the international munitions-maker, if he still existed, which he doesn’t, since governments took over the munitions trade.”

“Or someone who might try to sell it to the highest bidder?”

“I wouldn’t think so, Prue. A man can get terribly twisted, but I can’t believe a mind capable of reasoning a series of reactions as complex as this one could fail to see consequences. And one very likely consequence is the end of an environment where his riches would mean anything.”

“Every pathway has a big ‘NO’ sign,” she murmured.

“That’s what I’ve been living with,” he said bitterly.

They were silent until Prue said, “They were all like you.”

“What? Oh—those three … whatever do you mean, Prue? Karl with his deep socio-political insights, me with nothing but bewilderment in the everyday world. Landey, that philosophy of his … oh, Prue! He was a scholar and a humorist; that isn’t me! And Pretorio, your koala—him and his ENIAC brain! No, you couldn’t be more wrong.”

“I’m right,” she said. “They were like you. I couldn’t have been with them if they weren’t.”

“Thank you,” he said ardently, “But how?”

“None of them were … pretty men,” she said slowly. “They all respected
Homo sapiens
, and themselves for being members of it, for all they feared it. They all feared it the way a good sailor fears a hurricane; they feared it competently. They all laughed the way you do, from deep down. And they all still knew how to wonder like children.”

“I don’t quite know what to say to that.”

“You can believe me. You can believe
me
, Killy.”

“I do, then; but that doesn’t help.” Again he plunged into thought, seeking, turning, testing. “There’s only one single hypothesis so far. It’s crazy. But—here goes. Someone was gunning for those three, maybe because of the Ethical Science Board. He discovered my fractionations and synthesis, maybe independently, maybe not. Maybe not,” he repeated, and filed the question in his mental ‘pending’ folder.

“Anyway, he succeeds—I don’t know how; he injects the factor into those three men without their knowing it; he divines that all three would find you deeply appealing; he sees to it that each in turn meets you. He must have kept a pretty close watch on things, all the time—” Prue shuddered—“and so he kills them.”

Prue said, in a dead voice, “You can add to that.” She took his hand. “There were not three, but four men he was after, and he wants you to take me back home. If that doesn’t work he will try something else. Killy, be careful, careful!”

“Why?” he asked, and cracked his knuckles against the side of his head. “Why? What would anyone gain that way?”

“You said it yourself. It would cripple the Board, maybe kill it. Oh, and another thing! If he knows about the factor, how to make it, how to use it, he probably knows that you know it, too. He wouldn’t want that, don’t you see? He wouldn’t want someone like you around, alert, watching for some sign of that hellish thing, ready to tell the authorities, the Government, the Board about it. He’d want that secret kept until it was too late to stop it.

“You’ll have to find him and kill him.”

“I’m not a killer,” he said.

“There isn’t any other way. I’ll help you.”

“There are always other ways.” He was shocked.

“You’re so … damn … wonderful,” she said suddenly.

Again he was shocked. It was the first time he had ever heard her say “damn.”

“I had a think,” she said detachedly. The phrase thrilled the part of him that was always so nerve-alive to her; so many rich moments had begun with her sudden, “Killy, had a think.…”

“Tell me your think,” he said.

“It was after I went away,” she said, “and I was alone, and I had the think, and you weren’t there. I made a special promise to save it for you. Here is the think: There is a difference between morals and ethics, and I know what it is.”

“Tell me your think,” he said again.

“An act can be both moral and ethical. But under some circumstances a moral act can be counter to ethics, and an ethical act can be immoral.”

“I’m with you so far,” he said.

“Morals and ethics are survival urges, both of them. But look: an individual must survive within his group. The patterns of survival within the group are morals.”

“Gotcha. And ethics?”

“Well, the group itself must survive, as a unit. The patterns of an individual within the group, toward the end of group survival, are ethics.”

Cautiously, he said, “You’d better go on a bit.”

“You’ll see it in a minute. Now, morals can dictate a pattern to
a man such that he survives within the group, but the group itself may have no survival value. For example, in some societies it is immoral
not
to eat human flesh. But to refrain from it would be ethical, because that would be toward group survival. See?”

“Hey.” His eyes glowed. “You’re pretty damn wonderful yourself. Lessee. It was ‘moral’ to kill Jews under Hitler, but unethical in terms of the survival of Humanity.”

“It was even against the survival of Germany.”

He looked at her in fond amazement. “Did you bring all this out because of what I said—I’m not a killer?”

“Partly,” said Prue. “Even if I agreed that killing that hypothetical devil of ours was immoral—which I wouldn’t—what about the ethics of it?”

He grinned. “Check, comma; mate. I’ll kill him.” The grin faded. “You said ‘partly.’ Why else do I get this study in pragmatism?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re uncluttered a bit. That is, if you don’t think of it yourself first. Now then: how do we find him?”

“We might wait until he goes after me.”

“Don’t even think that way!” she said, paling.

“I’m serious. If that’s the only way, then we’ll do it. But I admit I’d rather think of another. Good gosh, Prue, he has an identity. He’s been around, watching—he
must
have been. He’s someone we know.”

“Start with the fractionations. Did you keep notes that anyone might have seen?”

“Not after I began to suspect what I was getting to, and that was comparatively early. Up to that point it was fairly routine. I told you it went off into a side-road no one knew about.”

“Could anyone have studied your apparatus—what was left in the stills and thingummies?”

“The stills and thingummies were cleaned enough and dismantled enough to bewilder anyone, every day when I was through with them,” he said positively. “You do just so much classified and secret work and you get into habits like that. Of course, some of that apparatus was—no,” he said, and shook his head. “It wouldn’t tell anyone anything unless they knew the exact order in which the pieces were set up.”

“You weren’t a Board member at all,” she mused.

“Me? I was a hermit—remember? Oh sure, I knew I’d join it some time. Matter of fact, I had a date for their banquet next month, which was cancelled. Fellow who was taking me is dropping out because of those deaths. Says the Board is dying or dead already.” Prue seemed to be waiting for something, so he said “Why?” He thought he detected the smallest slump of disappointment in her shoulders.

“Could there have been anything the Board was about to do that would be undesirable or dangerous to anyone?”

“Now, that I wouldn’t know.” He scratched his ear. “I think I can find out, though. Hold on. Don’t go away.” He sprang to his feet, stopped, and turned back. “Prue,” he said softly, “you’re not going to go away again, are you?”

“Not now,” she said, her eyes bright.

He went to the telephone, dropped in a coin and dialed Egmont’s number. “Hello—Egg? Hiya. Killy here.”

“What is it you want, Killilea?”

Killilea had already started to talk by the time he realized how formal and frigid Egmont’s voice was. A small frown appeared, but he went right on. “Look, you were pretty much in on the Ethical Science Board doings until recently, weren’t you?”

There was a pause. Then “Suppose I was?”

“Cut the rib, Egghead,” said Killilea. “This is serious. What I want to find out is, do you know if Pretorio or Monck or Landey, singly or in combination, had anything up their sleeves before they were killed? Some bombshell, or very important announcement that they were about to spring at a meeting?”

“Whatever I know, Killilea, I most certainly am not passing on to you. I want to make that absolutely clear to you.”

Killilea’s jaw dropped. Like most men who genuinely liked people, he was extraordinarily vulnerable to this sort of thing. “
Egg
! he gasped, then, almost timidly, “This
is
Egmont … Richard Egmont?”

“This is Egmont, and I have no information for you, not now or ever.”

Click
!

Killilea walked slowly back to the table, rubbing his ear, which was still stinging.

Prue looked up, and started. “Killy! What happened?”

He told her. “Egg,” he said. “Hell, I’ve known him for … what do you suppose is eating … why, I never—”

Prue patted his arm. “I hate it when something hurts you. Why didn’t you ask him what was wrong?”

“I didn’t have time,” said Killilea miserably. “Hey!” he barked. “Somebody’s been working on him. If we can find out who—”

“That’s it, that’s it,” said Prue. “Call him again!”

Back in the booth, Killilea set his jaw and waited for the first sound of Egmont’s voice. Being struck under his guard was one thing: going after something he urgently wanted was something else again.

“Hello?”

“Listen, you,” growled KiIlilea. “Hang up on me and so help me I’ll come over there to that office of yours, gag your secretary and kick your door down. The only way you can get rid of me is over the phone.”

He could hear Egmont’s furious breathing. Finally, “I don’t care what you do, you’re not getting any Board information out of me.”

“Hold it!” snapped Killilea as he sensed the other receiver coming down. Egmont said “Well?”

“All I want to know is what’s gotten into you since last night. You sound like I’d punched your grandmother, and I haven’t even seen her.”

“You’re a pandering little scut,” growled Egmont.

Killilea squeezed his eyes tight and bit back the rage that had begun to churn inside him. “Egmont,” he said somberly, “we were friends for a long time. If you did something I didn’t like I might write you off, but damn it I’d tell you why first. At least you owe me that. Come on—tell me what’s with you. I honest-to-God don’t know.”

“All right,” said Egmont, his voice shaking. “You asked for it. I’m going to tell you a thing or two about your buddy that you don’t know.”

“Buddy? What buddy?”

“Just shut up and listen,” hissed Egmont. “You make me madder every time you open your mouth. Jules Croy, that’s what buddy. You and your bright and cheerful questions about the Board. This is the guy that’s taking over what’s left of the Board and making a marching and chowder society out of it—a damned jackal, a corpse-eater.”

“But I don’t—”

“More money than he knows what to do with, and nothing to do with his time but hack up what’s left of the finest damn.…” He subsided to a splutter, and then growled, “And you. Spying around, seeing what you can pick up. You’re just right for it, too, the hermit with the big name in science, back in circulation again, picking up loose ends. Well, anybody I can get to won’t have any ends to give you. You louse!”

“Now you hold it right there,” flared Killilea. “That’s damn well enough, Egmont. I’ve heard of this Croy—who hasn’t? But I wouldn’t know him if he was in this phone booth with me. I’ve never had a single damned word with him!”

Egmont’s voice was suddenly all disdainful amazement. “If I didn’t know you were a rat by now, this would clinch it. Who’d you have lunch with today?”

“Lunch? Oh—some character. A barfly I met last night. Name’s Hartog. What’s that got to do with—”