The Works of Jesse Bone. Jesse Bone
* * * * *
He looked around the cart, but there was nothing except the canes on which he lay. There wasn't even any of the foul porridgelike mess that the natives called food, since native workers didn't bother about eating during working hours.
He turned over slowly, feeling the hard canes grind into his body as he moved. He kept thinking about food--about meals aboard ship, about dinners, about Earth restaurants, about steak, potatoes, bread--solid heartening foods filled with proteins, fats and carbohydrates.
Carbohydrates--the thought stuck in his mind for some reason. And then he realized why.
The canes he was lying on in in the cart were sugar cane! He had never seen them on Earth, but he should have expected to find them out here--one of Earth's greatest exports was the seeds from which beet and cane sugar were obtained.
He pulled a length of cane from the pile and bit into one end. His depleted body reached eagerly for the sweet energy that filled his mouth.
With the restoration of his energy balance came clearer and more logical thought. It might be well enough to make IC spend valuable time looking for him, but such delaying actions had no positive value. Ultimately he would be caught, and his usefulness would disappear with his death. But if he could get word to the Patrol, this whole business could be smashed.
Now if he made a big enough disturbance--it might possibly even reach the noses of the Patrol. Perhaps by working through the hundred or so tourists in Vaornia and Lagash, he could--
That was it, the only possible solution. The IC might be able to get rid of one man, but it couldn't possibly get rid of a hundred--and somewhere in that group of tourists there would be one who'd talk, someone who would pass the word. IC couldn't keep this quiet without brainwashing the lot of them, and that in itself would be enough to bring a Patrol ship here at maximum blast.
He chuckled happily. The native driver, startled at the strange sound, turned his head just in time to see his passenger vanish, together with a bundle of cane. The native shook his head in an oddly human gesture. These foreigners were strange creatures indeed.
* * * * *
Albert, thin, pale, but happy, sat at a table in one of the smaller cafeterias in Earth Center, talking to the Chief over a second helping of dessert. The fearful energy drain of esper activity, combined with the constant dodging to avoid IC hunting parties, had made him a gaunt shadow--but he had managed to survive until a Patrol ship arrived to investigate the strange stories told by tourists, of a man who haunted the towns of Lagash and Vaornia, and the road between.
"That's all there was to it, sir," Albert concluded. "Once I figured it out that not even IC could get away with mass murder, it was easy. I just kept popping up in odd places and telling my story, and then, to make it impressive, I'd disappear. I had nearly two days before IC caught on, and by then you knew. The only trouble was getting enough to eat. I damn near starved before the Patrol arrived. I expect that we owe quite a few farmers and shopkeepers reparations for the food I stole."
"They'll be paid, providing they present a claim," the Chief said. "But there's one thing about all this that bothers me. I know you had no psi powers when you left Earth on this mission, just where did you acquire them?"
Albert shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "Unless they were latent and developed in Antar's peculiar climatic and physical conditions. Or maybe it was the shock of that meeting with the Bandersnatch. All I'm sure of is that I didn't have any until after that meeting with Shifaz."
"Well, you certainly have them now. The Parapsych boys are hot on your tail, but we've stalled them off."
"Thanks. I don't want to imitate a guinea pig."
"We owe you at least that for getting us a case against IC. Even their shysters won't be able to wiggle out of this one." The Chief smiled. "It's nice to have those lads where they can be handled for a change."
"They do need a dose of applied conscience," Albert agreed.
"The government also owes you a bonus and a vote of thanks."
"I'll appreciate the bonus," Albert said as he signaled for the waitress. "Recently, I can't afford my appetite."
"It's understandable. After all, you've lost nearly eighty pounds."
"Wonder if I'll ever get them back," Albert muttered as he bit into the third dessert.
The Chief watched enviously. "I wouldn't worry about that," he said. "Just get your strength back. There's another assignment for you, one that will need your peculiar talents." He stood up. "I'll be seeing you. My ulcer can't take your appetite any more." He walked away.
Inside Albert, the Zark alerted. A new assignment! That meant another world and new sensations. Truly, this host was magnificent! It had been a lucky day when he had fallen in running from the Bandersnatch. The Zark quivered with delight--
And Albert felt it.
Turning his perception inward to see what might be wrong, he saw the Zark for the first time.
* * * * *
For a second, a wave of repulsion swept through his body, but as he comprehended the extent of that protoplasmic mass so inextricably intertwined with his own, he realized that this thing within him was the reason for his new powers. There could be no other explanation.
And as he searched farther, he marveled. The Zark was unspecialized in a way he had never imagined--an amorphous aggregation of highly evolved cells that could imitate normal tissues in a manner that would defy ordinary detection. It was something at once higher yet lower than his own flesh, something more primitive yet infinitely more evolved.
The Zark had succeeded at last. It had established communication with its host.
"Answer me, parasite," Albert muttered subvocally. "I know you're there--and I know you can answer!"
The Zark gave the protean equivalent of a shrug. If Albert only knew how it had tried to communicate--no, there was no communication between them. Their methods of thought were so different that there was no possible rapport.
It twitched--and Albert jumped. And for the first time in its long life, the Zark had an original idea. It moved a few milligrams of its substance to Albert's throat region, and after a premonitory glottal spasm, Albert said very distinctly and quite involuntarily, "All right. I am here."
Albert froze with surprise, but when the shock passed, he laughed. "Well, I asked for it," he said. "But it's like the story about the man who talked to himself--and got answers. Not exactly a comforting sensation."
"I'm sorry," the Zark apologized. "I do not wish to cause discomfort."
"You pick a poor way to keep from doing it."
"It was the only way I could figure to make contact with your conscious mind--and you desired that I communicate."
"I suppose you're right. But while it is nice to know that I really have a guardian angel, I'd have felt better about it if you had white robes and wings and were hovering over my shoulder."
"I don't understand," the Zark said.
"I was trying to be funny. You know," Albert continued after a moment, "I never thought of trying to perceive myself. I wonder why. I guess because none of the medical examinations showed anything different from normal."
"I was always afraid that you might suspect before I could tell you," the Zark replied. "It was an obvious line of reasoning, and you _are_ an intelligent entity--the most intelligent I have ever inhabited. It is too bad that I shall have to leave. I have enjoyed being with you."
"Who said anything about leaving?" Albert asked.