companions walked through into the main lobby with Abaquaan following them
inconspicuously at a short distance. One of the clerks at the front desk raised
his eyebrows enquiringly. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
“Yes. My name is Marion Kearson, from NBC. I arranged with the assistant
manager, Mr. Graves, to tape an interview in the lobby with Karl Zambendorf. Is
Mr. Graves available, please?”
“One moment. I’ll call his office.”
That answered one question. Time was now crucial if the gamble was going to pay
off. Abaquaan turned and walked quickly to the line of comnet terminals at the
rear of the lobby, sat in one of the booths, closed the door, and called a
number in the Vehicles Registration Department of the State of New Jersey.
Seconds later a man with pink, fleshy features and a balding head appeared on
the screen. “Hello, Frank. Long time no see. How’re things?” Abaquaan spoke
quietly but urgently.
The face frowned for a moment, then recognized the caller. “Say, Harry! Things
are good. How’s the private-eye business?” Abaquaan never made public
appearances and hence could command a long list of aliases.
“It’s a living. Look, I need some information fast. The usual deal and terms.
Any problem?”
Frank glanced about him with an instinctively furtive look. “Can I ask what it’s
to do with?”
“Nothing to lose any sleep over—a domestic thing. I need to find out who owns a
car that’s been seen in a couple of places. The usual suspicious husband
routine.”
Frank licked his Ups, then nodded. “Okay. Got the number?”
“New Jersey registration KGY27-86753.”
“Hang on a minute.” Frank looked away and began operating another terminal
offscreen. Abaquaan produced a pen and notebook, and then sat drumming his
fingers on the side of the terminal while he waited. “Well?” he asked as Frank
at last turned back to look out of the screen.
“It’s registered under the name of a Mrs. Marion Kearson, 2578 Maple Drive,
Orangeton,” Frank said. “You want details of the car?”
“I’ve got a description. Has it been reregistered at the same address for very
long, and is there any accident record?”
“Renewed successively for the last three years. No accidents.”
“Any other vehicles registered at the same address? What information do you have
on the drivers? . . .”
“Very well, we’ll be down in a few minutes,” Drew West said to the screen of the
terminal in the living room of Zambendorf’s suite. He cut the call, turned, and
announced, “That was Graves, the assistant manager. He’s with Clarissa
downstairs. The NBC people are all set up and ready when we are.”
Dr. Osmond Periera, middle-aged, wispy haired, wearing a bow tie with a maroon
jacket and smoking a Turkish cigarette through an ornate silver holder, resumed
talking from the point where the call had interrupted. The introductions and
author profiles in his best-selling pseudoscience books described him as
Zambendorf’s discoverer and mentor; certainly he was among the staunchest of the
disciples. “One of the most intriguing possibilities on Mars will be the
opportunity to verify that extrasensory information does indeed propagate in a
mode not constrained by any form of inverse-square law. Although experiments on
Earth seem to suggest that the field strength does not diminish with distance at
all, my feeling is that until now the scale has simply been too small to reveal
significant differences. After all, even though we are venturing into a
completely new phenomenological realm, we mustn’t allow ourselves to lose our
sense of realism and scientific plausibility, must we?”
Zambendorf blinked and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. Periera’s
ability to invent the most outrageous explanations for Zambendorf’s feats and,
moreover, to believe them himself totally uncritically and without reservation,
constantly amazed even Zambendorf. “It’s an interesting thought,” he agreed.
“Another possibility is that the remoteness of negative influences might well
have a beneficial effect on repeatability.”
Periera brought a hand up to toy unconsciously with his bow while he considered
the suggestion. It was intriguing—certainly something that hadn’t occurred to
him before. “I could design tests to be conducted through the voyage for
investigating any correlations with distance,” he mused. “That might be very