Snick.

All things throughout the universe are connected, but things similar are more closely connected than others.

Tingle, Gril, Castor, and Snick were more or less tightly bound together by the unlawful acts of three of them. And here they were, pulled together in Washington Square by what might be called the law of criminal gravity. They were like planets attracted by forces that, in this case, defied the statistics of probability. All, except Gril, falling toward a common center.

However, human beings were not unconscious forms of matter like planets. They could decide to leave their orbits.

Castor was the first to do so. Looking to his left, he saw Tingle. His eyes widened; his pace was checked. And then he ran. G.o.d does not run; He is all-powerful and fears nothing. Just now, however, He fled like a human, not like one who could float or fly or make Himself invisible or zap His enemy with lightning or a quick case of the creeping crud.

His flight was a break for Tingle. Snick had turned to watch the tall thin Castor, a bipedal gazelle running as if a cheetah were after him. Knowing that Snick would turn to see who was chasing Castor, Tingle stepped behind an oak tree. While pretending to be relaxed, a loafer leaning against the trunk, he watched the plainclothes organics. Some of them had seen Castor, but they apparently thought that l~e was a jogger. Gril was still at the table.

The expected shrilling from Snick's whistle did not come. The plainclothes kept their indifferent but subtly watchful att.i.tudes. Unable to curb his curiosity any longer, Tingle peeked around the tree. Castor had vanished around one of the block buildings on West Fourth Street, south of the square. Snick had her back to Tingle, her hands on her hips, her head slightly c.o.c.ked. He could visualize her look of puzzlement. Why in h.e.l.l hadn't she had the conditioned reflex of all organics and pursued the man? Perhaps it was because she was on a mission and she was not going to deviate from it. The running man was no concern of hers.

He groaned. Wrong again. Snick had started trotting south on Thompson Street. Presently, she turned right on West Third Street and was hidden by the building there. She was fcdlowing Castor.

Tingle bit his lip, looked at Gril, who was still playing chess, and stepped out from the shade of the oak. The sun wrapped a smotheringly hot blanket around him, but he felt cold inside himself. What to do? He did not want to run into Snick because he did not want to be a.s.sociated in her mind with Castor. In any event, he could account for his being here. His apartment building was only a few blocks away.

He did not run, though he walked swiftly. If the organics in the square saw three people, one after the other, start running, they might be curious enough to investigate. On reaching the corner of the building at which Snick had turned on Thompson Street and West Third, he went around it, too. Neither the chased nor the chaser was in sight. When he got to Sullivan Street, he saw Snick, her back to him, going around the building on Bleecker Street. Since there was no one else on the street, he ran after her.

Before getting to Bleecker Street, he slowed down. When he got to the corner building, he stopped and peered around it. Snick, now trotting, was just rounding the corner at MacDou gal Street. Evidently, Castor had gone north. Tingle ran west on Bleecker and stopped at MacDougal. He stuck his head around the corner until Snick had turned left onto Minetta Lane. Meanwhile, he was hoping that none of the neighbors would notice him and his curiosity-arousing behavior.

Reaching Minetta Lane, he paused long enough to make sure that Snick was not in sight. He went west until he came to the house at the end of the block. Tingle hid behind a tree, his head out far enough from the trunk for one eye to see Snick. She was still trotting, her robe sticking to her back with sweat, on the ca.n.a.l road. He waited until she had gone around Jeff Caird's house on Bleecker before he stepped out from the tree.

Tingle ran. The fishers, pedestrians, and bicyclists on the ca.n.a.l road stared at him. They must have thought he was crazy to run in this heat; they were crazy just to be out in it. Panting, sweat stinging his eyes, he stopped at the corner. Not seeing Snick, he stepped out from the fence onto the sidewalk. There she was. Entering the front of his apartment building. Castor must have gone into it. The main front and back entrances were usually left unlocked during the day. Castor had had no more trouble getting in than Snick was having.

Tingle could not believe that it was just coincidence that the man had gone into that building.

Paz had told him to call every half-hour. He was fifteen minutes late. No time to call now. But, as he started walking, he heard the shrilling from his wrist.w.a.tch. He turned it off and held it close to his mouth. "h.e.l.lo." Then he held the watch close to his ear.

Paz's voice said, "I was worried. You didn't . .

"I know. Call in."

He sketched what had happened and told Paz that he was going to follow the two into the building.

"Do you think that's wise?"

"Just now, I don't know what's wise."

"I can get two men down there fast and have them take care of Castor," Paz said. "You wait outside to make sure that he doesn't leave."

"He may be going out the back door," Tingle said. He was running as he talked and was now alongside the building. "I'm headed that way now."

He stopped at the corner and looked around it. Castor was not there, which meant that he was still inside the building or that he had run out of the back and out of sight. Tingle did not think that Castor had had time to do that. 'Moreover, he did not believe that Castor would go out into the open again. He would be waiting for Snick.

While Tingle went up the steps to the back porch, he called Paz and told him the situation.

"I have to go in. I don't want Snick to get hurt."

"Why not? She could be as dangerous as Castor. Let him take care of her, then we'll get him."

"Wedon't know that she's after me," Tingle said. "Any,'

way There was a pause.

"Anyway what?" Paz said sharply.

"If people. . . if there are witnesses. . . then the organics will be there almost immediately. We don't want that, right?"

"Are there people around?"

"No one at the moment," Tingle said.

"I think it's best you get out of there. Let my people handle this."

"Is that an order?"

Paz coughed and then said, "No. I'm not there. I don't know exactly. . . I'm not on the spot. You have good judgment, Bob. You go ahead, do what you think the situation demands."

"Doing," Tingle said. "I'm going in. Call you later."

"Yes, but-"

Tingle had turned off the transmitter.

He pulled out his blouse, opened his shoulderbag, took the weapon from the bag, and stuck it into his belt. The bottom of the blouse covered the gun. He walked swiftly but softly down the hall to the wide curving steps leading to the second floor. The huge recreation room was empty, and no sounds from outside or inside reached him. The sweat was drying off his face under the coldness of the air-conditioning, but it seemed to be pouring out from his armpits. He stopped at the foot of the staircase and took his gun from the belt. It was heavy, weighing four pounds, and shaped like an archaic automatic pistol. In addition to the firing b.u.t.ton, it bore two dials, one on each side just above the grip. He set its left-hand dial for a tight and narrow beam and the right-hand one for full power for the charged particles.

He started up the stairs slowly, listening intently for any sound from above. Before he got to the top step, he crouched down. He raised his head quickly above the last riser but only far enough so that his eyes were level with the floor of the hall. He held the gun barrel up, its tip just by the lobe of his left ear.

The hall was empty.

He could wait outside the door of 2E until Snick or Castor came out. He did not know that either was in there, but he a.s.sumed that they were. He could be wrong. Castor might have fled to a higher floor or he might have gone down the back stairs and on out. Neither seemed likely, or perhaps he wanted Castor to he in his apartment with no way out. Whatever had happened, he had to check out his apartment.

He stopped before his door and bent his knees so that he could look into the insertion hole. He saw nothing except darkness, which meant that Castor had not used his weapon to drill * a hole through the code device inside the door. He straightened up and inserted in the hole that tip of his disc-star which would transmit the entry code. He waited a few seconds, then pushed in on the door. It swung easily and noiselessly, stopping short of the inner wall by a foot. The anteroom and the hall beyond were empty.

After going inside, he used the k.n.o.b on the inside of the door to shut it quietly. He did not want anyone coming through behind him. During the next four minutes, he pa.s.sed through every room swiftly but quietly, opened closet doors, and even looked under the bed, though he felt foolish doing so.

Then he walked along the stoner cylinders, pausing at each to look carefully at the faces behind the windows. None was Castor's or Snick's. That left the two empties, his and his wife's. He had not gone close enough to look down to find out if anyone was crouching below the windows. He had, however, kept glancing at the cylinders behind him while checking out the others.

No one was in the rooms or on the balcony. Anybody here had to be in the two Wednesday cylinders. If each was occupied, then one person was probably a corpse.

Crouching down so that he would not be seen if Castor dared a peek through the window, Tingle went to the nearest cylinder. Pointing the gun with one hand, he reached out with the other and swiftly pulled the door open. The cylinder was empty. Which meant that the other stoner should also be empty. Unless there were two persons in there and one was dead.

He repeated the procedure and sighed with a mixture of relief and puzzlement. No one there either. Where were they? He was almost certain that they had not left the building.

Frowning, he went out onto the balcony and scanned the neighborhood. Snick and Castor were not in sight. For a moment, he thought of telling Paz what had happened, but he rejected that. What good would it do? His chief could not help him, and he might order him out of the building or tell him to stay in the apartment. The only thing for him to do was to search the places available to him.

He walked to the hall and started down it to search the other rooms. At its far end was the entrance door. It was luck that allowed him to escape the beam that evaporated the code-lock device and shot straight down the hall. The glowing white rodshape almost touched his left shoulder. A second later, the door swung violently inward.

Tingle did not share all the same reflexes with Caird. He had slowly built up his own characteristics to correspond with his role. Thus, he stood frozen for a second longer than Caird would have done. Caird would have instantly thrown himself down on the floor, his gun held out pointing at the door even while falling. Tingle did recover in time to press the firing b.u.t.ton even though he did not know who was coming through the door.

Castor screamed, dropped his weapon, clutched his left upper arm, and was gone. Tingle raced after him and into the hall. The odor of burned flesh and plastic wrapped itself around him. Castor's head was just disappearing down the back stairs as Tingle came through the door. Tingle ran after him, but, by the time he got to the porch, he had lost Castor. He was tempted to run out and circle the building. The madman might be hiding around the corner or behind a bush or tree in the yard. It might take just a minute to catch and kill him. But what if someone saw him shooting a man? The organics would be here in sixty seconds. And if he searched the neighborhood, he might be caught because someone had seen the wounded Castor and called the organics.

Castor was not going to get far before he attracted attention and was caught or pursued. Tingle did not want to be anywhere near Castor when that happened.

It was possible, however, that Castor had a place nearby into which he could dive like a rat into a hole. Such as, for instance, the tall yellow access tube on the corner of the little park near the ca.n.a.l. This was an entrance to the underground goodstransportation system. If he had gotten down there, he was long gone.

He waited until his hard breathing had softened before he spoke Paz's codecall into the watch. Paz answered at once. Tingle told him what had happened; Paz cursed. When he was finished with his blasphemies and invective, which included a dozen Hindustani loanwords, he said, "My agents are in your area now. I'll tell them about this, and I'll send some more. We have to find Castor now!"

"Tell me something I don't know," Tingle muttered. More loudly, he said, "I'm going to look for Snick. I have an idea where she might be. Call you later."

By law, at least one building in every block had to have four extra stoners. These were mostly used for emergencies such as immediately stoning people who had been injured in the neighborhood streets or for the use of organics who had just made an arrest. Stoning a suspected criminal was a far superior restraining method to handcuffing.

Tingle went to the bas.e.m.e.nt door, nodding at a couple who had just come down the staircase. Fortunately, he had put the gun back under the blouse. Even so, they looked suspiciously at him, though that might be his excited imagination. He walked down the steps into another recreation room. A TV strip was shedding its ghostly light; someone had forgotten to turn it off. Whoever had done it was going to be reprimanded and perhaps fined, if the culprit could be identified. Tingle turned it off.

The emergency cylinders stood in a corner of the utility room. Tingle went by them to a wall panel marked EMER CYL PWR and slid it into the recess. The number-three b.u.t.ton was glowing. Tingle punched it, and the light went out. He went to the cylinder marked NO. 3 and opened the door. Snick was slumped down in it, her head against her drawn-up knees. She was gray-blue and hard and cold as metal to the touch. A bruise on her forehead indicated that Castor had knocked her senseless. Or perhaps he had killed her. In any event, he had not had time to mutilate her, if he meant to, as he had Doctor Atlas.

Tingle shut the cylinder door, returned to the control panel, punched the number-three b.u.t.ton, and then turned the PWR rheostat to ON. A second later, the rheostat automatically returned to the OFF position. He went to the cylinder, swung the door open, bent down, and put a finger on her jugular. It was pulsing feebly. Good! Or was it good? Alive, she was a danger, though not if she could be hidden away someplace.

After stoning her again, he stood thinking for a moment, then called Paz over his wrist.w.a.tch. The tiny scrambler in the watch would make the transmission unintelligible to anyone listening in except Paz. The government had the right to tap into any transmission; it had also given its citizens the right to use scramblers, providing them with the illusion of freedom. Put a leash on the dog but make it happy by making the leash a long one.

He told Paz just what had happened.

Paz said, "I'll send two agents to get her out of the house."

He said, "I have to know where she's being taken."

Paz said sharply, "Why is that?"

"I have to question her, find out what she's up to. I won't feel safe until I do so. Not about her, I mean. Castor's another matter."

"We'll take care of that."

"I don't like working in the dark," Tingle said. "Anyway, you really need me for the interrogation."

Paz sighed. After a pause, he said, "Very well. As soon as the situation's stable, I'll notify you."

He sounded as if his mouth was full of food. He had probably stuffed it as soon as he realized that Tingle was going to argue about his orders.

After being told to stay in his apartment until he heard from Paz, Tingle went upstairs. He called the Department of Repairs and Plumbing and ordered a new code-lock installed. He was told that that could not be done until tomorrow. That is, next Wednesday. Tingle canceled the order. He called Paz, who was beginning to sound cross and hara.s.sed. Paz said that he would send someone to install a new lock within the hour. It was not wise to bring DORAP in. It might investigate the matter, and how could he explain the damage? The corpspersons would realize that only a charged-particle weapon could have burned through the lock. Tingle said that he knew that, but most corpspeople he had met were not inquisitive about the cause of the damage. They were required by law to record the cause, but that was usually as far as the matter went. Unless some high official got nosey.

"This is getting worse and worse," Paz said. "I hope you don't have any more difficulties~"

"I don't make them," Tingle said, and he cut Paz off. Paz was beginning to sound as if he were at the cracking point or perilously close. Perhaps the immer council should be told to watch Paz closely for signs of emotional instability. The trouble with that was that he would have to send the suggestion through Paz. No. He could do that through his Thursday superior, who would see to it that Thursday's council got word. It would then transmit the suggestion to Wednesday's. But that council would not know about it until it was destoned on Wednesday.

Tingle shrugged. He was not so calm and relaxed and in control of himself. Who was he to throw stones at Paz?

He went into the bathroom and turned up the power on his watch so that he could hear it above the shower water. The bathroom door was locked, and his weapon lay on a rack to one side of the shower. Though he did not think that Castor would return, he was not going to be careless.

Then he heard a shrilling and saw orange flashing. He swore. The sound and light came, not from his watch, but from the strip on the wall opposite the shower cubicle. The soap slipped out of his hands. He started to pick it up, clianged his mind, turned the water off, and pulled the shower door back. Who could it be? Nokomis? If she came home early for some reason, he would have a hard time getting away from her to call Paz.

He felt the soap under his foot, and he fell backward.

When he awoke, he was in a hospital bed. Nokomis' broad but beautiful face hung above him.

"No, I'm not going to be careless," he muttered.

Nokomis said, "What did you say, dear?"

His mind felt jellied, though not so much that he could not understand her when she told him what had happened. She had been called from the stage during a crucial point in the rehearsal. But he was not to worry about it. He was far more important to her than her career. The producer and most of the cast were furious with her, but he was not to be disturbed by that. To h.e.l.l with them. The hospital had called her, and she had rushed down in a taxi. And she was so happy that he had not been killed.

However, she was puzzled because, so the hospital said, it had gotten an anonymous call. The anonym had spoken through a strainer, which removed all possibility of identifying the caller by a voiceprint. After saying that Tingle was unconscious in his shower, the caller gave the address and turned off the strip. When the paramedics got to the apartment, they found the door unlocked-she said nothing about the lock mechanism-and Tingle was lying senseless in the shower. The whole thing was so strange.

By the time she was through, Nokomis looked more suspicious than concerned. Tingle said that all he knew was that he had slipped on a bar of soap.

The attendants brought up a machine and subjected him to various tests. After a while, a doctor came in and read the results. He told Tingle that he had no serious injury and that he could go home as soon as he felt strong enough. However, a few minutes later two organics came to question him. Tingle repeated what he had told Nokomis. They looked grave, and one said that he would see Tingle again next Wednesday.

After they had left, Tingle groaned. When Wednesday rolled around, he would be questioned again. If he did not have an explanation to satisfy the organics, and he probably would not, he would be given the ultimate inquisition. Truth mist would be sprayed at him, and, after he had breathed that, he could not lie. He would tell the organics all that they asked.

And he and the other immers would humpty-dumpty into utter ruin.

"One bad thing after another, each worse than the one before it!" he muttered.

"What, dear?" Nokomis said.

"Nothing important."

Fortunately, Nokomis had to go to the toilet. While she was gone, he called Paz again, and Paz cursed again.

"Quit it!" Tingle said sharply. "My wife'll be back in a minute! What happened to me?"

Paz settled down and rapped out an explanation. The agent who had come to repair the doorlock had found him in the shower. He had put the weapon in his own shoulderbag and had then called the hospital. Tingle quickly told Paz about the organics and the inevitable interrogation. Paz said, "That can be avoided, I think. I'll pa.s.s on the message. What a mess!"

He paused, then said, his voice very low and soft, "Bob, I've got even more bad news."

Tingle said, "Wait! I hear my wife!"

He listened for a few seconds, then said, "Tell it quick. She's stopped in the hall to talk to somebody."

"I got a recording," Paz said. "From yesterday. It said I should tell you that Ozma w.a.n.g is dead. I don't know what that means, but . .

"G.o.d!" Tingle said. Then, "I think my wife's about to come in. I'll talk to you later."

He cut off the transmission and put his arm down by his side. He felt something quiver inside him, a thing struggling to get loose and ravage him. It was, he knew, grief, but it was deep within him, far away. It had to be Jeff Caird's grief for the death of his wife.