He said, “No way out for ya, Doc. Cort ain’t just gonna put ya to the hogs one
of these days, he’s gonna feed ya to them.”
“No. That is where you are wrong,” The voice had suddenly become crisper in
tone. His head jerked up, dropped to one side, like a bird’s. “The locational
progressions are simple. There is no problem there. From A to B to C and onward.
Or from P to Q and then back to, let us say, G. So you see, there is indeed a
way out. Or I should say, many ways out. But finding them, my dear sir, that is
altogether a different matter. The Redoubts are there, in situ. Many of them.
But—and I put it to you— where is ‘there’?”
“Shit,” muttered Teague.
“This is the point. And I fear I have to say the answer is for the moment lost.”
He was talking more quickly now, the words spilling out, a curious excitement in
his voice, in his whole bearing. His right hand was raised, the forefinger
wagging up at Jordan Teague as though in admonishment. As though the losing of
the “answer” was all the gross man’s fault. “No doubt it will reveal itself. No
doubt they will reveal themselves. At times the fog clears…”
He stood up suddenly, began to prowl in front of the pyramid, his hands clasped
behind him. Backward and forward, backward and forward. His voice dropped to a
dreamy murmur that Ryan could only just make out.
“The fog. Sometimes, if let loose, it’s quite powerful. Feedback effect, as I
recall, though difficult to explain. And quite arbitrary. Of course, they had no
real conception of its power. They said they had, but they lied. They lied much
of the time.” He thumped his right fist into the palm of his left hand, his
voice rising to an outraged cry. “They treated me like an animal! It was
disgraceful! As though I were a puppet! They had no right to do what they did
and I informed them of that fact. And for all their honeyed words I was nothing
to them, less then nothing. A subject. An interesting experiment. It was wicked,
wicked! God should have struck them dead!” He swung around on Teague, pointed up
at him, laughing, his voice cracked, pitching up to a falsetto. “But through the
fog, my dear sir! From A to B! And then to R or M or anywhere! Find the fog,
sir! There is your solution! Your way out! So many possibilities!”
Hunaker whispered, “Shit, Ryan, we’re wasting time. Let’s do it!”
Ryan said “Wait, dammit. There’s something…” Then he said, “Lucky we didn’t!” as
Teague bawled, “Jauncy! Hackutt!” and one of the mirrors on the other side of
the pyramid swung open and two goons came through at the run. They had slung
M-16s and they went separate ways around the pyramid, right and left, and
converged on the wild-eyed old man. They were both grinning death’s-head grins.
The old man stopped pacing, seemed to shrivel into himself, his face gray.
Teague said, “Fucker’s off again. Take his toys from him.”
“No!”
The man called Doc screamed the word. His hands went up toward Teague in an
imploratory gesture, silently entreating him not to do what was to be done, and
what had been done, probably, on many occasions in the past.
“C’mon, c’mon!” snapped one of the goons. “Take ’em out. Hand ’em over.”
Doc stared wildly around, as though looking for some means of escape. Then he
swallowed hard, his shoulders slumping. He reached slowly into a pocket of his
filthy black coat, then held out his hand. Ryan peered up at the ceiling, the
only way he could see what was there: two gray spheroids.
He muttered, “All right, but don’t hit the old guy.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure, but don’t. I want him.”
“You’re the boss.”
They slammed through the curtain, Ryan to the left, Hunaker on his right, one
target apiece. Simple.
Except that the two women shrieked and bolted. Their ideal course of escape
would be off to the side, out of any line of fire. Instead blind panic turned