Authors: Anne McCaffrey
“Gillings is going to have to work with you on this, Dave,” Peanstrak said reluctantly as he reached for the intercom at his belt. “But first he’s going to have to apologize.”
Op Owen shook his head vigorously. “I want his cooperation, Julian, grudged or willing.
When
he really believes in Talent, then he will apologize voluntarily … and obliquely.”
To op Owen’s consternation, Gillings arrived noisily in the cowlike lab copter, sirens going, lights flashing.
“Don’t bother now,” op Owen said to Pennstrak for he could see the City Manager forming a furious reprimand.
“She might have been warned by the finders’ activity anyhow.”
“Well, she’s certainly been warned off now.” Pennstrak stalked off, to confer with one of his aides just as Gillings strode into the corridor with his technicians.
According op Owen and Gracie the merest nod, Gillings began issuing crisp orders. He knew his business, op Owen thought, and he evidently trusted
these
technicians for he didn’t
bother
to crowd into the tiny apartment to oversee them.
“As soon as your men have prints and a physical profile, Commissioner, we’d like to run the data through our computer. There’s the chance that the girl did take advantage of the open Talent test the Center has been advertising.”
“You mean you don’t
know
who it is
yet?”
“I could ‘find’ the coat only because I
knew
what it looked like,” Gil Grade said, bristling at Gillings’s manner.
“Then where is it?” and Gillings gestured preemptorily to the sable-less apartment.
“These are the shoes, Commissioner,” said one of his team, presenting the fragile strap and jeweled footwear, now neatly sealed in clear plastic. “Traces of dirt, dust, fleck of nail enamel and from the ’scope imprint, I’d say they were too big for her.”
Gillings stared at the shoes disinterestedly. “No sign of the dress?”
“Still looking.”
“Odd that you people can’t locate a girl with bare feet in a sable coat and a bright blue silk gown?”
“No odder than it is for your hundreds of patrolmen throughout the city, Commissioner, to overlook a girl so bizarrely dressed,” said op Owen with firm good humor. “When you ‘saw’ the coat, Gil, where was it?”
“Thrown across the loveseat, one arm hanging down to the floor. I distinguished the edge of the sill and the tree outside, the first folds of the curtain and the wall heating
unit. I called in, you sent over enough finders so that we were able to eliminate the similarities. It took us nearly an hour …”
“Were you keeping an ‘eye’ on the coat all the time?” Gillings demanded in a voice so devoid of expression that his contempt was all the more obvious.
Gil flushed, bit his lip and only partially inhibited by op Owen’s subtle warning, snapped back, “Try keeping your physical eye on an object for an hour!”
“Get some rest, Gil,” op Owen said gently. He waited until the finder had turned the corner. “If you are as determined to find this criminal as you say you are, Commissioner Gillings, then do not destroy the efficiency of my staff by such gratuitous criticism. In less than four hours, on the basis of photographs of the stolen objects, we located this apartment …”
“But not the criminal, who is still in possession of a sable coat which you found once but have now unaccountably lost.”
“That’s enough, Gillings,” said Pennstrak who had rejoined them. “Thanks to your arrival, the girl must know she’s being sought and is shielding.”
Pennstrak gestured toward the dingy windows of the flat, through which the vanes of the big copter were visible. A group of children, abandoning the known objects of the development play-yard, had gathered at a respectful, but curiosity-satisfying distance.
“Considering the variety of her accomplishments,” op Owen said, not above using Pennstrak’s irritation with his Commissioner to advantage, “I’m sure she knew of the search before the Commissioner’s arrival, Julian, Have any of these items been reported, Commissioner?”
“That console was. Two days ago. It was on ‘find,’ too.”
“She has been growing steadily bolder, then,” op Owen went on, depressed by Gillings’s attitude. And depressed that such a Talent had emerged twisted, perverted, selfish. Why? Why? “If your department ever gets the chronology of the various thefts, we’d appreciate the copy.”
“Why?” Gillings tuned to stare at op Owen, surprised and irritated.
“Talent takes time to develop—in ordinary persons. It does not, like the ancient goddess Athena, spring full-grown from the forehead. This girl could not, for instance, have lifted that portable set the first time she used her Talent. The more data we have on … the lecture is ill-timed.”
Gillings’s unspoken “you said it” did reach op Owen whose turn it was to stare in surprise.
“Well, your ‘finders’ are not novices,” the Commissioner said aloud. “If they traced the coat once, why not again?”
“Every perceptive we have is searching,” op Owen said. “But, if she was able to leave this apartment after Gil found the coat, taking it with her, because it obviously is not here, she also is capable of shielding herself and that coat. And, until she slips that guard, I doubt we’ll find it or her.”
The report on the laboratory findings was exhaustive. There was a full set of prints, foot and finger. None matched those on file in the city records, or Federal or Immigration. She had not been tested at the Center. Long coarse black hair had been found. Analysis of skin flakes suggested an olive complexion. Thermo-photography placed her last appearance in the room at approximately the time the four ‘finders’ fixed on her apartment thus substantiating op Owen’s guess. The thermal prints also revealed that she was of slender build, approximately 5′4″, weighing 105 pounds. Stains on a paring knife proved her to possess blood type O. No one else had occupied the apartment within the eight day range of the thermography used.
From such records, the police extrapolator made a rough sketch of “Maggie O” which she was called for want of a better name. The sketch was taken around the neighborhood
with no success. People living in Block Q didn’t bother people who didn’t bother them.
It was Daffyd op Owen who remembered the children crowding the police copter. From them he elicited the information that she was new in the building. (The records indicated that the apartment should be vacant) She was always singing, dancing to the wall ’caster, and changing her clothes. Occasionally she’d play with them and bring out rich food to eat promising they could have such good things if they’d think hard about them. While the children talked, Daffyd “saw” Maggie’s face reflected in their minds. The police extrapolator had been far short of the reality. She was not much older than the children she had played with. She had not been pretty by ordinary standards but she had been so “different” that her image had registered sharply. The narrow face, the brilliant eyes, slightly slanted above sharp cheekbones, the thin, small mouth and the pointed chin were unusual even in an area of ethnic variety.
This likeness and a physical description were circulated quickly to be used at all exits to the city and all transportation facilities. It was likely she’d try to slip out during the day-end exodus.
The south and west airstrips had been under a perceptive surveillance since the search had been inaugurated. Now every facility was guarded.
Gil Grace “found” the coat again.
“She must have it in a suitcase,” he reported on the police-provided handunit from his position in the main railroad concourse. “It’s folded and surrounded by dark. It’s moving up and down. But there’re so many people. So many suitcases. I’ll circulate. Maybe the find’ll fix itself.”
Gillings gave orders to his teams on the master unit which had been set up in the Center’s control room to coordinate the operations.
“You better test Gil for precog,” Charlie muttered to op
Owen after they’d contacted all the sensitives. “He
asked
for the station.”
“You should’ve told me sooner, Charlie. I’d’ve teamed him with a sensitive.”
“Look at that,” Charlie exclaimed, pointing to a wildly moving needle on one of the remotes.
Les was beside it even as the audio for the Incident went on.
“Not that track! Oh! Watch out! Baggage. On the handcart! Watch out. Move, man. Move! To the right. The right! Ahhhh.” The woman’s voice choked off in an agonized cry.
Daffyd poshed Charlie out of the way, to get to the speaker.
“Gil, this is op Owen. Do not pursue. Do not pursue that girl! She’s aware of you. Gil, come in. Answer me, Gil.… Charlie, keep trying to raise him. Gillings, contact your men in the station. Make them stop Gil Grade.”
“Stop him? Why?”
“The precog. The baggage on the handcart,” shouted Daffyd, signaling frantically to Lester to explain in detail. He raced for the emergency stairs, up the two flights, and slammed out onto the root. Gasping physically for breath, he clung to the high retaining wall and projected his mind to Gil’s.
He knew the man so well, had trained Gil when an employee brought in the kid who had a knack for locating things. Op Owen could see him ducking and dodging through the trainward crowds, touching suitcases, ignoring irate or astonished carriers; every nerve, every ounce of him receptive to the “feel” of a dense, dark sable fur. And so singleminded that Daffyd could not “reach” him.
But op Owen knew the instant the loaded baggage cart swerved and crushed the blindly intent Talent against an I-beam. He bowed his head, too fully cognizant that a double tragedy had occurred. Gil was lost … and so now was the girl.
There was so peace from his thoughts even when he returned to the shielded control room. Lester and Charlie pretended to be very busy. Gillings was. He directed the search of the railway station, arguing with the station-master that the trains were to be held and that was that. The drone of his voice began to penetrate op Owen’s remorse.
“All right then, if the Talents have cleared it and there’s no female of the same height and weight, release that train. Someone tried the johns, didn’t they? No, Sam, you can detain anyone remotely suspicious. That girl is clever, strong, and dangerous. There’s no telling what else she could do. But she damn well can’t change her height weight and blood type!”
“Daffyd. Daffyd.” Lester had to touch him to get his attention. He motioned op Owen towards Charlie who was holding out the handunit.
“It’s Cole’s, sir.”
Daffyd listened to the effusively grateful store manager. He made the proper responses but it wasn’t until he had relinquished the handunit to Charlie that the man’s excited monologue made sense.
“The coat, the dress and the necklace have reappeared on the store dummy,” op Owen said. He cleared his throat and repeated it loud enough to be heard.
“Returned?” Gillings echoed. “Just like that? Why, the little bitch! Sam, check the ladies rooms in that station. Wait isn’t there a discount dress store in that station? Have them check for missing apparel. I want an itemized list of what’s gone, and an exact duplicate from their stock shown to the sensitives. We’ve got her scared and running now.”
“Scared and running now.” Gillings’s smug assessment rang ominously in Daffyd’s mind. He had a sudden flash. Superimposed over a projection of Maggie’s thin face was the image of the lifeless store dummy, elegantly reclad in the purloined blue gown and dark fur. “Here, take them back. I don’t want them anymore. I didn’t mean to
kill him. I didn’t mean to. See, I gave back what you wanted. Now leave me alone!”
Daffyd shook his head. Wishful thinking. Just as futile as the girl’s belated gesture of penance. Too much too soon. Too little too late.
“We don’t want her scared,” he said outloud. “She was scared when she toppled that baggage cart.”
“She
killed
a man when she toppled that baggage cart, op Owen!” Gillings was all but shouting.
“And if we’re not very careful, she’ll kill others.”
“If you think I’m going to velvet glove a homicidal manias …”
A shrill tone issuing from the remote unit forced Gillings to answer. He was about to reprimand the caller but the message got stunned attention.
“We can forget the paternal bit, Owen. She knocked down every one of your people and mine at the Oriole Street entrance. Your men are unconscious. Mine and about twenty or more innocent commuters are afflicted with blinding headaches. Got any practical ideas, Owen, on catching this monster you created?”
“Oriole? Was she heading east or west?” He had to stop that line of talk.
“Does it matter?”
“If we’re to catch her it does. And we must catch her. She’s operating at a psychic high. There’s no telling what she’s capable of now. Such Talent has only been a theoretic possibility …”
Gillings lost all control on himself. The fear and hatred burst out in such a wave that Charlie Moorfield, caught unawares, erupted out of his chair towards Gillings in an instinctive defense reaction.
“Gillings!” “Charlie!” Les and Daffyd shouted together, each grabbing the wild combatants. But Charlie, his face white with shock at his own reaction, had himself in hand. Sinking weakly back into his chair, he gasped out an apology.
“You mean, you
want
to have more monsters like her
and him?” Gillings demanded. Between his voice and the violent emotions, Daffyd’s head rang with pain and confusion.
“Don’t be a fool,” Lester said, grabbing the Commissioner by the arm. “You can’t spew emotions like that around a telepath and not get a reaction. Look at Daffyd! Look at Charlie! Christ man, you’re as bad as the scared, mixed-up kid …” and then Les dropped Gillings’s arm and stared at him in amazement. “Christ, you’re a telepath yourself!”
“Quiet, everybody,” Daffyd said with such urgency he had their instant attention. “I’ve the solution. And there’s no time to waste. Charlie, I want Harold Orley airbound in the Clinic’s copter heading south to the Central Station in nothing flst. We’ll correct course en route. Gillings, I want two of the strongest most stable patrolmen on your roster. I want them armed with fast-acting, double-strength trank guns and airborne to rendezvous near Central Station.”