Frank Herbert - High-Opp

“Take off your clothes,” said Movius in a reasonable tone. “I want to see what I’m being offered.”

“Dan, please!”

He mimicked her. “Dan, please!” His hand darted out, grasped the top of her suit, ripped it open.

“Dan! I’ll scream!” She drew back, clutching the torn place.

“Go ahead. I doubt anybody would hear you down here in the elevator.”

She backed farther away, suddenly tried to dart around him toward the controls. He caught her arm, ripped the suit farther open. She fought him, but subsided, breathing hard, when he pinned her arms behind her back. “Dan, I came to you for help. I’m in danger.”

He ignored her, ripped the suit and underclothing down to her waist as she vainly twisted and writhed.

“Dan, wait! Later. I have an apartment. We can go there.” She stared up at him with a kind of hungry fascination.

Movius looked down at her pink skin, remembering all the nights he had stayed awake, wondering what Cecelia’s flesh would feel like. Now let the bitch taste a little of her own medicine. Somehow, it wasn’t the kind of revenge he’d imagined. It was flat, unsatisfying. He picked up the thread of her gasping protests.

“You’re in danger?”

“Yes; oh, yes. Terrible danger!”

How had she ever followed him? he wondered. She was so obvious.

“Yes. We have so little time.” She glanced down at her exposed skin. “Later, we can…”

He pushed her away from him, feeling a little sick with himself. “Who’s waiting there with a gun?”

She started to speak, wet her lips with her tongue. “I don’t…”

“Don’t give me any more lies!” He shouted it. “You played me like a fish on a hook. Four years you played me for that omnipotent low-opp O’Brien!”

“Dan, I…” She was crowded back into the corner, arms up covering her breasts.

“Make him hate everything!” he shouted. “That was the scheme, wasn’t it?” He lowered his voice. “You didn’t realize you could make me hate myself.” The torn coveralls were beginning to slip down over her hips. “Cover yourself.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t…”

“I said cover yourself!”

He turned, punched the button for his floor. Cecelia pulled up the bottoms of her coveralls, tried ineffectually to repair the tops. It was no use; they were too badly ripped. She tied the torn sleeves around her waist. The elevator door snicked open.

“I’m not going out there like this,” she hissed.

“Then stay here.” He strode out of the elevator without looking back, stopped at the door of his room, unlocked it. Cecelia slipped past him as he opened the door. He went in, slammed the door.

Grace stood in the middle of the living room, a hand to her cheek, staring at Cecelia who had stopped a few feet away. Movius walked past them as though it were the most natural thing in the world for him to come home with a woman who was nude from the waist up.

“She tried to bait me into a trap,” he said. “Now we have to find out who the triggerman is.” He sank into a chair, his back to them.

“Who?” asked Grace, voice over-controlled.

There was a long silence punctuated by a sob from Cecelia.

“You’d better tell us,” insisted Grace.

“But you don’t understand,” said Cecelia. She sounded as though she were about to break into tears.

“Tell us, or I think I’ll kill you myself!” said Grace.

“You’re all crazy,” gasped Cecelia.

“That does it,” said Movius. “She’s told us who.”

“It’s Glass,” said Grace. “You’ve gone over to him.”

Movius came out of his chair and turned in one motion. “No! It’s Quilliam. Has to be.”

Cecelia was backing toward the door, ignoring her semi-nudity.

“Get her some clothes,” said Movius. Then to Cecelia, “You’d better tell the whole thing, Cecie.” Somehow, the old familiar name sounded inappropriate for this frightened woman.

“But I thought…” Cecelia suddenly sat down on the floor, buried her head in her hands and began to cry.

Movius turned away, went into the kitchen and took a long time mixing a stiff drink. There was a sour, sick taste in his mouth over what he had done in the elevator. Cecelia had just been taking orders. The person he should’ve knocked around was that self-satisfied O’Brien or Quilliam. He took the drink back into the living room. No sign of the woman. They came out of the bedroom in a moment with Cecelia in one of Grace’s suits. He gave Cecelia the drink. She took it without comment, drained it without removing it from her mouth.

Grace was chewing her lower lip, a sure sign she was shaken. “It was my father.”

Cecelia put the empty glass on a table. “I didn’t know. He called my private number, said he had an urgent job for me. I was to get you out of your apartment and down to…”

“Just a minute.” Movius stepped to the phone, called O’Brien. He told the Bu-Psych chief what had happened, waited a long minute before O’Brien sighed, said, “Dan, I was hoping to cover it up without your finding out.”

“Why?” Movius bit off the word.

O’Brien’s voice sounded old and tired. “Quilliam had his eyes on the post of Coordinator. It’s…”

“You mean he’d…”

“It’s a complicated thing,” said O’Brien. “Briefly, though, it’s like this: he wants the power so he can revenge himself on the ones who killed his wife. Basically, he hates the LPs, blames them for what happened. I think he’s a sick man and dangerous.”

“A fine time to tell me,” said Movius.

“I’m sorry,” said O’Brien and sounded it. “I’ve known Quilliam so long and seen him so often, it just never got through to me what was driving him until his own actions made it imperative.”

“This is awkward,” said Movius.

“You mean because of Grace?”

“Of course that’s what I mean!”

“I’ve put a special guard around your apartment. That’s the best I can do. Get Cecelia out of there some way so she isn’t recognized. We need her right where she is with Glass.”

“The guard may help,” said Movius. “Gerard’s men are like a sieve. Janus comes and goes through them at will.”

“My men know how to recognize Quilliam.”

“Right.” Movius put the phone on its hook, returned to the living room. “Your father is out to kill me.” Grace sat down in a chair, turned her face away. “O’Brien has a guard on the building which may or may not be enough. We’re getting out of here tonight anyway.”

“If I could just go to him,” murmured Grace. “I’m sure I could explain.” She spoke as though she were talking to herself.

“O’Brien says he won’t listen to reason.”

“I didn’t know,” said Cecelia. “I’m kind of out of touch with things where I am. I’ve always taken orders either from Mr. O’Brien or Mr. London. He just called… I didn’t know.”

“Never mind,” said Movius. “What’s done is done.” He thrust his hands deeply into his pockets, glared at the floor. “Cecie, I apologize. Revenge is no good; it doesn’t matter whose revenge.”

She gave a shaky laugh, spoke in a voice totally unlike the tones which once had been familiar. “I asked for it. You just surprised me. The Dan Movius I knew wouldn’t have done that.” Her voice gained strength; the silky tones reappeared. “He’d have come groveling after me.” Cecelia turned to Grace, gave a flippant salute. “I think you have yourself a man, honey. Keep him occupied or I may come back on my own time.” She started to leave.

“Just a minute,” said Movius. “O’Brien wants you out of here without being recognized. I’ll have to lead you through the conduit tunnel.”