Which meant that Gonwil’s death would in fact place the Parlin family in control of the concern . . .
And that seemed enough to convince both Gilas and Wellan Dasinger, the chief of the Kyth Detective Agency, who had arrived before Telzey, that the danger was real. It puzzled her because it hardly looked like conclusive proof of anything, but she decided they were aware of possibilities in situations of that kind which she couldn’t know about. Within an hour, the Bank of Rienne and the Kyth Agency had initiated cluster-spanning activities on behalf of the bank’s temporary ward which would have stunned Gonwil if she’d been told about them.
So much action should have been reassuring. But her father and Dasinger still looked worried; and presently Gilas appeared to realize again that she was around, and explained. It was a delicate situation. As Gonwil’s appointed local guardian, the bank could act with a certain amount of authority; but that advantage was based on a technicality which could be shattered in an instant by her guardians on Tayun. “And they’re aware, of course—at least in a general way—of Mrs. Parlin’s plans.”
Telzey gave him a startled look. “Why should . . .”
“Since Gonwil was a minor,” Gilas said, “her guardians could have taken legal steps to nullify the condition that her death would benefit the other members of Lodis Associates. And considering that business practices on Tayun remain close to the level of tribal warfare, they would have done it—automatically on assuming guardianship—unless it was to their own benefit to be a little negligent about the matter.”
“Her own guardians would help Malrue kill Gonwil?” Telzey said incredulously.
“Probably not directly. And of course if Gonwil had decided to marry the son, no one would have had any reason to kill her. But as it stands, we must expect that her guardians will try to hamper any obvious efforts now to protect her against Malrue Parlin. So we have to be very careful not to reveal our suspicions at present. Until we can get Gonwil’s formal request to represent her in the matter, we’ll be on very shaky legal ground if we’re challenged from Tayun. And from what I know of Gonwil, it’s going to be difficult for her to accept that she might be in danger from Mrs. Parlin.”
Telzey nodded. “We’ll almost have to prove it first.”
Dasinger put in, “Supposing—this is a theoretical question—but supposing this turned into a situation where Miss Lodis saw that in order to stay alive herself it might be necessary to have Mrs. Parlin killed. Knowing her as you do, do you think she could be brought to agree to the action?”
Telzey stared at the detective, realized with some shock that he had been speaking seriously, that it wasn’t a theoretical question at all.
She said carefully, “I can’t imagine her agreeing to any such thing, Mr. Dasinger! She just isn’t a—a violent person. I don’t think she’s ever intentionally hurt anybody.”
“And of course,” the detective said, “the Parlin family, having known her since infancy, is quite aware of that.”
“Yes . . . I suppose so.” It was another disturbing line of thought.
Gilas said quickly, smiling, “Well, we don’t intend to let it come to that. In a general way though, Telzey, Gonwil’s attitudes are likely to be a handicap here. We’ll see how well we can work around them for now.”
She didn’t answer. There was, of course—as Gilas knew—a way to change Gonwil’s attitudes. But it didn’t seem necessary to mention that immediately.
* * *
Wellan Dasinger, who might be Gilas’s junior by seven or eight years, had an easy tone and manner and didn’t seem too athletically built. But somehow one gradually got the impression that he was the sort of man who would start off each day with forty push-ups and a cold needle shower as a matter of course. Telzey didn’t know what his reaction had been when Gilas told him she’d been getting information from the mind of a dog, but he discussed it with her as if it were perfectly normal procedure. Kyth operatives had been dispatched to Beale to look around for the mysterious stranger of Chomir’s memories; and Dasinger, unhurriedly and thoughtfully, went over every detail she had obtained, then questioned her at length about Gonwil’s relationship to the Parlins, the vendetta stories, the maneuvering to get Gonwil married to Junior.
There seemed to be no question of Dasinger’s competence. And it was clear he didn’t like the situation.
Information began flowing back from Tayun over interstellar transmitters from various contacts of the bank and Dasinger’s agency. One item seemed to provide all the evidence needed to indicate that caution was advisable in dealing with the Parlin family. During the past two decades, the number of shareholders in Lodis Associates had diminished by almost fifty per cent. The last three to go had dropped out simultaneously after transferring their holdings to Malrue Parlin, following a disagreement with her on a matter of company policy. Some of the others had taken the same route, but rather more had died in one way or another. There had never been any investigation of the deaths. The remaining associates appeared to be uniformly staunch supporters of Mrs. Parlin’s policies.
Dasinger didn’t like that either.
“Leaving out crude measures like counterviolence,” he told Telzey, “there probably are going to be just two methods to make sure your friend gets a chance to enjoy a normal life span. One of them is to route Mrs. Parlin into Rehabilitation. If she’s tamed down, the rest of the clique shouldn’t be very dangerous. She’s obviously the organizer.”
Telzey asked uncertainly, “What’s the other method?”
“Have Miss Lodis hand over her stock to Mrs. Parlin for whatever she’s willing to pay. I doubt it would be safe to argue too strongly about the price.”
Telzey was silent a moment. “Supposing,” she said finally, “that Gonwil did agree to . . . well, counterviolence. That would be a private war—”
“Yes, we’d have to register to make it legitimate.”
“You—your agency—handles private wars?”
“Occasionally we’ll handle one,” Dasinger said. “It depends on the client and the circumstances. I’d say this is such an occasion.”
She looked at him. “Isn’t that pretty risky work?”
The detective pursed his lips judiciously.
“No, not too risky. It would be expensive and messy. Mrs. Parlin appears to be an old hand at this, but we’d restrict the main action to Orado. If she imported her own talent, they’d be at a severe disadvantage here. And the better local boys wouldn’t want any part of it after we got word around that the Kyth Agency was representing the other side. We should have the thing settled, without placing Miss Lodis in jeopardy, in about six months, even if we had to finish up on Tayun. But it appears Miss Lodis has a prejudice against such methods.”
“Yes, she does,” Telzey said. After a moment, she added, “So do I.”
“I don’t know about your friend, Miss Amberdon,” Dasinger said pleasantly, “but I expect you’ll grow out of it. At the moment though, it seems our line should be to try to manipulate Mrs. Parlin into Rehabilitation. We should know inside an hour about how good a chance we’ll have to do it. I’m waiting for a call.”
The call came in ten minutes later. It was from the Kyth Agency.
There appeared to be much Pehanron’s law courses hadn’t mentioned about the practical aspects of mind-blocks.
The Tayun connection’s report to the agency was that the Parlin family had been for years on the official list of those who were provided with mind-blocks for general commercial reasons. These, Dasinger explained, were expensive, high-precision jobs which ordinarily did not restrict their possessor in any noticeable way. But when specific levels of stress or fatigue were developed, the block automatically cut in to prevent the divulging of information from the areas it was set to cover.
“You see how it works,” Dasinger said. “You have the block installed, have its presence officially confirmed, and have the fact published. Thereafter, nobody who’s bothered to check the list will attempt to extort the information from you, because they know you can’t give it. The Rehabilitation machines supposedly can take down any block, but they might need a year. Otherwise, nothing I’ve ever heard of can get much through a solidly installed block—continuous questioning, drugs, mind-probes, threats, torture, enforced sleeplessness, hypnotics. All that can be accomplished is to kill the blocked person eventually, and if that’s your goal there’re easier ways of going about it.”
Apparently, too, the fancier type of block did not bring on the mental deterioration she’d heard about. Malrue Parlin’s faculties obviously hadn’t been impaired.
“A commercial block of that nature,” Gilas said slowly, “presumably would cover plans to murder a business associate for profit in any case.” He looked as if he’d bitten into something sour. “When it comes to the Parlins, we can be sure it would cover them. There’ve been a number of occasions when Mrs. Parlin must have banked on that for protection if an investigation should catch up with her.”