“Christ,” Benteley muttered. He turned away, disgusted.
“Listen to me.” She caught imploringly at his arm. “Reese knew, too. Everybody knew. It couldn’t be helped—sornebody had to be in it, didn’t they? Answer me!” She stumbled after him. “Answer me!” she screamed.
Benteley stepped back, as a grumbling white-bearded little old man pushed angrily past him toward the antechamber. He disappeared inside the room and dropped his heavy book on the table with a thump. He blew bis nose, moved critically around examining the chairs, and finally took a seat at the head of the table. Reese Verrick, standing glumly at the windows, exchanged a few words with him. A moment later Leon Cartwright followed after Judge Waring.
Benteley’s heart resumed beating, slowly and reluctantly. The session was ready to begin.
SIXTEEN
THERE were five people in the room.
Judge Waring sat at one end of the table, surrounded by his law books and tapes. Leon Cartwright faced the massive, ponderous figure of Reese Verrick, separated by two heaped ashtrays and an ugly pitcher of ice water. Benteley and Major Shaeffer sat across from each other at the low end of the table. The final chair was empty; Oster, the ipvic technicians, the Directorate officials, the Hill brass, had been barred. They were in the game room and the gym and basking around the pool. Through the heavy wood door of the ante-chamber filtered the faint vibrations of men and women at play.
“No smoking,” Judge Waring muttered. He glared suspiciously from Verrick to Cartwright and back to Verrick. “Is the recording business going?”
“Yes,” Shaeffer said.
The recording robot crept agilely along the table and took up a position in front of Reese Verrick. “Thanks,” Verrick said, as he collected his papers and prepared to begin.
“Is this the fellow?” Waring asked, indicating Benteley.
“He’s the one I came for,” Verrick said, with a brief glance at Benteley. “But he’s not the only one. They’re all breaking their oaths, turning disloyal and betraying me.” His voice trailed off vaguely. “Certainly not like the old days.” He roused himself and quietly delivered his statement. “Benteley was dropped by Oiseau-Lyre. He was a derelict classified without a position. He came to me at Batavia looking for an 8-8 position; that’s his class. Things were bad for me, at that time. I didn’t know what lay ahead; I was thinking I might have to lay off some of my own staff. Anyhow, I took him on, in spite of my own uncertainty. I took him into my household, gave him an apartment at Farben.”
Shaeffer shot a quick glance at Cartwright; he was ahead of Verrick’s spoken words.
“Everything was in disorder, but I gave Benteley what he wanted. I put him on my biochemist research staff. I gave him a woman to sleep with, fed him, and took care of him. I brought him into my biggest project.” Verrick raised his voice a trifle. “He was given a responsible position in the project, at his own insistence. He stated he wanted to get in on policy-level. I trusted him and gave him what he asked for. At the crucial moment he betrayed me. He killed his immediate superior, dropped his work, and fled. He was too cowardly to go on, so he broke his oath. The critical project collapsed because of him. He came here aboard a Directorate ship and tried to swear on to the Quizmaster.”
Verrick was silent. He had finished.
Benteley heard the words with a kind of dull growing surprise. Was that what had happened? Waring was looking at him curiously, waiting for him to speak. Benteley shrugged; he had nothing to say. It was out of his hands entirely.
Cartwright spoke up. “What was Benteley’s job in this project?”
Verrick hesitated. “He was doing substantially the same work as the other class 8-8 people.”
“Was there any difference?”
Verrick was silent a moment. “Not that I can recall.”
“That’s a lie,” Shaeffer said to Judge Waring. “He knows of a difference.”
Verrick nodded reluctantly. “There was one difference,” he admitted. “Benteley asked for and got the initial position. He would have taken the project to its final stage. He was trusted completely.”
“What was that stage?” Judge Waring asked.
“Benteley’s death,” Cartwright answered.
Verrick didn’t contradict him. He examined his papers moodily until finally Judge Waring asked, “Is that true?”
Verrick nodded.
“Did Benteley know?” Judge Waring demanded.
“Not at first. It wasn’t possible to make the information, available to him immediately; he had just arrived on the staff. He betrayed me when he found out.” Verrick’s heavy hands gripped his papers convulsively. “He destroyed the project. They all pulled out; they all let me down.”
“Who else betrayed you?” Shaeffer asked curiously.
Verrick’s strong jaw moved. “Eleanor Stevens. Herb Moore.”
“Oh,” Shaeffer said. “I thought Moore was the man Benteley killed.”
Verrick nodded. “Moore was his immediate superior. He was in charge of the project.”
“If Benteley killed Moore, and Moore had betrayed you . . .” Shaeffer turend to Judge Waring. “It sounds as if Benteley was acting as a loyal serf.”
Verrick snorted. “Moore betrayed me afterwards. After Benteley—” He broke off.
“Go on,” Shaeffer said.
“After Benteley killed him,” Verrick said woodenly, and with difficulty.
“What’s that?” Judge Waring asked testily. “I don’t understand.”
“Tell him what the project was,” Shaeffer suggested mildly. “Then he’ll understand.”
Verrick studied the table in front of him. He dog-eared a paper and finally spoke. “I have nothing more to say.” He got slowly to his feet. “I withdraw the material relating to Moore’s death. That really isn’t relevant.”
“What do you stand on?” Cartwright asked.
“Benteley pulled out and dropped his work. He left the job I assigned him, the job he took on when he swore on to me.”
“Yes,” Verrick agreed. “But he should have stayed. It was his job.”
Cartwright also rose. “I have nothing else to say,” he said to Judge Waring. “I swore Benteley on because I considered him legitimately free of his prior oath to Verrick. I considered the oath broken by Verrick. Benteley was sent to his death without knowledge. A protector isn’t supposed to send a classified serf to involuntary death. If the serf has a classification, he must get that serf’s written agreement.”
Judge Waring’s beard bobbed up and down. “A classified serf must agree. A protector can only destroy his classified serf on an involuntary basis if the serf has broken his oath. In breaking his oath, the serf forfeits his rights but remains his protector’s property.” Judge Waring gathered up his law books and tapes. “The case here rests on one point. If the protector in question broke his side of the oath first, the serf in question was legally within his rights to drop his work and leave. But if the protector did not break his side of the oath prior to the serf’s departure, then the serf is a felon and liable to the death penalty.”
Cartwright moved toward the door. Verrick followed after him, his heavy face dark and brooding, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “That’s it, then,” Cartwright said. “Well wait for your decision.”
Benteley was with Rita O’Neill when the decision came. Shaeffer approached him briefly. “I’ve been scanning old Judge Waring,” he said. “He’s finally made up his mind.”
It was “evening” in the resort. Benteley and Rita were sitting in one of the small side-bars of the resort, two vague shapes in the dim color-twisting shadows that hung around their table. A single aluminum candle sputtered between them. Directorate officials were sitting here and there in the room, murmuring, gazing vacantly ahead, sipping their drinks. A MacMillan moved silently around. “Well?” Benteley said. “What is it?”
“It’s in your favor,” Shaeffer said. “He’ll announce it in a few minutes. Cartwright told me to let you know as soon as possible.”
“Then Verrick has no claim over me,” Benteley said wonderingly. “I’m safe.”
“That’s right.” Shaeffer moved away from the table. “Congratulations.” He disappeared through the entrance and was gone.
Rita put her hand on Benteley’s. “Thank heavens.”
Benteley felt no emotion, only an empty sort of daze. “I guess that settles it,” he murmured. He absently watched a flow of color move up the side of the wall, hover against the ceiling and then re-descend like a fluid spider. It dissolved back into basic swirls and dabs, then formed once more and started its slow crawl back up.
“We should celebrate,” Rita said.
“Yes, I’m where I wanted to be.” Benteley sipped the remains of his drink. “Working for the Directorate. Sworn in to the Quizmaster. This is what I set out for, that day. It seems like a long time ago. Well, I’ve finally arrived.”
He gazed down at his glass and was silent.
“How do you feel?”
“Not much different.”
Rita tore apart a match folder and fed the fragments to the metallic candle. “You’re not satisfied, are you?”