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of him, and began to selectively play back the events of the night. He was
deep in thought, playing small sections over and over. Finally, he sighed and
went to see Prang again.
"I think I got part of it," he told the CEO. "Different parts. The easy part
first. It was very faint, and maybe your lab people can really bring it out,
but
I heard at least one car door slam after they carried their prey out the front
door. That's why we didn't catch them in the Labyrinth. They didn't go out the
way they came in. They were ready and they had somebody come and pick them up
and drive them away. I bet if you really enhance the background and filter out
the rest you'll hear several vehicles, maybe enough for all of them. That
means they might still be here, on this Earth. There's no way they could have
used a station after the full security alert."
"You heard Bond saying they had their own stations. Almost a parallel network,
as difficult and frightening as it is to believe."
"Yeah, but not here. I mean, the Labyrinth's been extended to perhaps a
million parallel worlds, but the Company has developed only a very few of
them. Most just aren't worth the trouble, and the others we just don't have
the full manpower and resources to control as yet. That's not true here. Here
we've explored every inch, surveyed, mapped, you name it. We know and have
every weak point covered and monitored. That's why they had to come in using
our substation. If they had their own they'd have had what they needed for a
lot less costly assault on this place. They sure as hell knew where it was and
maybe even set Bond up to get here. How else can you explain the pick-up cars
around here in bad weather in the middle of winter? No, the odds are they're
still here, someplace. And while the bunch of 'em might sneak out over a long
period in various stations, the odds of them getting a five-year-old kid
through are pretty slim with our system."
"They seem pretty good at beating our system," Prang noted.
"Maybe, but they either didn't know or they forgot one thing. Dash is unique,
genetically and otherwise. This is the only parallel Earth where Brandy and I
even got married and we checked, remember? The only one. So Dash is one of the
rarest of all individuals-a kid with no doubles, no duplicates. His genetic
markers are unique. They put him through the Labyrinth and they're gonna get
flagged."
Prang thought about it. "I hate to say this, old friend, and I hope you do not
take offense, but have you considered that they might do away with him?"
"I thought about it, but it doesn't make sense, at least for now. They didn't
take him for revenge, they took him for insurance. You don't burn your
insurance policy, you stash it in a safe and secure place and make sure it's
readily available and all in good order. No, he's alive, probably pretty
pissed off, somewhere on this Earth. And he'll stay that way as long as he
serves their
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he%20Mirror.txt (16 of 150) [1/19/03 4:21:14 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Jack%20L.%20Chalker/Chalker,%20Jack%20L%20-%20G.O.D.%20Inc%203%
20-%20The%20Maze%20in%20the%20Mirror.txt purpose. In fact, I would say he's
not just insurance, he's a bargaining chip.
You heard them-they want me for some reason. Want me enough to blow cover on a
world they apparently control."
Prang nodded. "That's probably true. Still, even if they keep him here this
world is a big and heavily populated place. People vanish all the time never
to be seen or heard from again, and with far less resources or resolve than
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these.
Still, we will start the worldwide search at once."
He sighed, then continued. "We haven't traced where the dead men come from as
yet, by the way, but we're narrowing the possibilities. We've also shipped a
couple to pathology because of Bond's comment on their being slaves to some
new and even more horrible drug. I already have a suspicion as to what it
might be, though, or what it might be derived from."
Sam's eyebrows went up. "Oh?"
"Most people couldn't break free of the old one. Even if they could be
physically purged they would go mad without it or without something that
dampened the internal biochemistry so it didn't go wild when the organism lost
control. The attempt was to find a substance that could be easily and cheaply
manufactured, could not be transferred like the original drug to others, and
yet would provide what was needed should we take them off the old organic
drug. That proved easier to do than we'd expected. It's quite simple to design
a drug and tailor it to whatever characteristics you want. It's all a matter
of biochemistry, nothing more, but it would allow the victims to retake their
places in a more normal society and clear our own medical wards and the
retreat world where we'd exiled so many."
Sam nodded. "Like methadone that's used here to allow heroin addicts to get
normal lives."
"Yes, I'm familiar with that one. Of course, you remain addicted and you must
have your dosage, so you're still on a string, and, in fact, it still produces
many of the pleasure center effects of the original, but it's cheap and not
communicable, as it were."
"Yeah, but that can't be what had these guys on the hook. If it's cheap and
easy to produce then they got a way out."
"Perhaps. If they know there's a way out, or alternate and more benign sources
of supply. At least I hope that's the case. It means we might be able to get
these people away from these criminals and turn them into our allies. But-"
At that moment a young security officer wearing a thick parka and snow boots
entered the room. "Pardon, Excellency, but the Ginzu Master is here. He does
not appear in a very pleasant mood."
"Well, neither am I!" Prang snapped. "Show him in!"
The man who entered was small, almost tiny, and very frail-looking, with an
almost cartoon sinister Oriental face complete with snow-white Fu Manchu
moustache. His head was shaved, and he wore a simple black tunic with a gold
sash at the waist and sandals. It was little wonder he was less than pleased.
This guy was dressed for summer in a tea garden. Still, he didn't look cold,
or frostbitten, or anything else but just plain mad.
"What is the meaning of this?" the Ginzu master demanded to know in a low,
gruff voice.
"I'm going to play you a recording," Prang told him, unimpressed with his
anger.
"At the end of it you may remain indignant only at your peril. Then we will
discuss a young lady currently paralyzed in bed upstairs-and far deeper
matters as well."
The little man was indeed angry, but he listened, and what he heard he liked
even less. Finally he said, "Enough!"
"You recognize the voices?"
"The quality is too poor for that. The only one close enough to get a real
identity on is the one speaking bad English, and he could be a dozen people at [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
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