Mask of Chaos by John Jakes

Author:John Jakes [Jakes, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780441784004
Publisher: Penguin Putnam~mass
Published: 1969-12-31T23:00:00+00:00

Part III THE EXORCISM

Executive Fochet took them to the scene of the first interviews.

They didn't tumble to this until the Aquarian Stairs loomed into sight. The stairs were deserted. They'd emerged from the Game at night. Extremely late at night to judge from the emptiness of the streets.

Fochet had not spoken to them. He walked ahead, leaving his underlings to surround them. No hands were laid on Ab or Mike at any time.

"Break for it?" Mike whispered as they crossed the small plaza at the top of the stairs. He wanted to, desperately.

Ab smiled a wicked smile. "Let's not. Let's see what he proposes. It might not be so distasteful."

"Huh?" He blinked. "I don't get it." He looked nervously at their escorts, who might or might not have heard. "I thought you'd signal to cut for it before this."

Again that odd glint in her gray eyes. "We owe him some kind of accounting, love. Don't look so rabbity. He's defensive, we're not."

"You're not."

"Come on, where's that old hiphooray optimism?"

He admitted, "Gone. Same place that swallowed up the old you. The one so down on everything. I think you're having fun." He shivered.

"You know," she said with another funny glance, "you could be right? Or is it that I think we really can beat-hush. Here we go."

They entered the familiar building, which was lit but empty. Their footfalls rustled away and away in the silence. Fochet's tunic suit vanished ahead of them up the tube.

Mike wondered why he still felt sp frantically frightened. At any time he could hit the switches and jelly half their guards, maybe more, in a swipe. He knew the answer, though. That kind of stuff wasn't good enough to win this game, small g.

Their escorts rode up the tube below them. They accompanied Mike and Ab into the waiting room. Miserably, Mike wished he knew what was ahead. He hoped Ab did. Fochet's private door recessed. They went through. The escorts stayed put. The inner door shut.

Familiar, this. The dull brown carpet. Fochet already seated at his undecorated floating desk. Mike let Ab claim the floating pillow. She did it with grace, appearing relaxed. Through the one porthole, the long march of saberlike buildings seemed harsh. From a height and at a distance, their glow didn't soften them appreciably. The view screens on the wall, all shut off, reflected varying degrees of highlight. Had Fochet turned the illumination level up?

With folded hands and mask in place Fochet said, "I believe I should state my position."

Politely, Ab said, "If you wish."

"For the first time in my lifetime, the Game had been canceled before completion. This is due to your refusal to continue."

"You know why we refused," she came right back.

"I heard your incomprehensible rantings from the rubble heap. I did not begin to understand—"

"Oh bother," Ab grumped. "Must we start lying again? Is this place lensed? Are you trying to make an impression on someone who's not here?"

The white hairs on the backs of Fochet's hands vibrated, the only sign he'd tightened his interlaced fingers.

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