Free MacRoscope by Piers Anthony Page A

like that. He gets along with anybody, and you really have to get to know him before you realize how deep and clever he is. He was the big success of the project — but of course you know that. Even if he does try to claim he’s stupid compared to Schön. I used to think he made Schön up, just to amuse me; but since this crisis—”
    “Yeah. That’s the way it was with me too, in a way. But now I sort of
have
to believe in Schön, much as I might prefer to forget all about him, or there isn’t much point in hanging around.”
    She smiled. “I’d tell you not to feel sorry for yourself, if I didn’t so often feel the same way. Nobody likes to feel stupid, but around Brad—”
    “Yeah,” he said again.
    They entered the infirmary. It carried the usual aseptic odors, the normal aura of spotless depression. “These are the — five,” she said, bringing him to a row of seated men. “Dr. Johnson, Dr. Smith, Dr. Sung, Dr. Mbsleuti and Mr. Holt. All most respected astronomers and cryptologists.”
    “Johnson? Holt? Sung? I’ve heard those names before.”
    “Yes, Brad would have mentioned them, if you weren’t already familiar with their reputations. The significant planets they discovered were named after them. Did Brad explain — ?”
    “He showed me some planets. I didn’t realize — well, never mind. I know now.”
    He looked at the seated men. Dr. Johnson was a saintly-looking man of perhaps sixty, with iron hair and brows and deep lines of character about the eves. His gaze was direct and compelling, but fixed, as though he were concentrating on some transcendent intangible.
    “Doctor,” Ivo said, stepping close. “I admired your planet, with its noodle plants and yellow trees.”
    The serene gray eyes refocused. The firm jaw dropped; then, after a second or two, the lips parted. “Huh-huh-huh,” Johnson said. A trace of spittle overlapped one corner of his mouth.
    “Hello,” Afra said distinctly. “Hel-lo.”
    Johnson smiled, not closing his mouth. A waft of ordure touched them.
    “That’s what he’s trying to say,” Afra explained. “Hello. He was always courteous.” She sniffed. “Oh-oh. Nurse!”
    A young man in white appeared, a male nurse. “I’ll take care of it, Miss Summerfield,” he said. “Perhaps you’d better leave now.”
    “Yes.” She led the way out of the infirmary. “They don’t have much control,” she said. “We’re trying to reeducate them, but there hasn’t been enough time yet to know how far they can recover. It’s a terrible thing that happened to them, and we still don’t—”
    Brad was coming swiftly down the hall. “Crisis,” he said, joining them. “There’s an American senator coming, an ornery one. Someone leaked the mind-destroyer to him, and he means to investigate.”
    “Is that bad?” Ivo asked.
    “Considering that we haven’t released the information yet to anyone beyond the station, yes,” Brad said. “Don’t be fooled by our candor with you, Ivo. This is super-secret stuff. We’ve been fudging reports from all five victims, just to keep up appearances while we try to break this impasse. Until we crack it, no one leaves this station — no one who knows, I mean.”
    “What about that man who brought me? Groton?”
    “He can keep his mouth shut. But all he knew, then, was that I needed you, where to find you, and what to say to you once he got you alone.”
    That explained the stalking. Groton hadn’t wanted to make contact in the crowd, though he had finally had to.
    “But don’t misjudge him,” Afra said. “Harold and Beatryx are very warm people.”
    Did that mean Groton was married? Ivo had not pictured that. It proved again how far off first impressions could be.
    “Here’s the situation,” Brad said, bringing them to his room. “Senator Borland is on his way. He’s class-A trouble. Borland is a first-termer, but he’s on the make already for national publicity, and he’s ruthless. He isn’t stupid; in