Mack Reynolds: Ability Quotient

Bert glowered at him. “Would you get into a war without even knowing what side you were on?”

Jim leered. “That’s a good question. First, I’d find out what side was going to win.”

“Yeah. Well, I’m still at the stage where I’m not really sure what they’re fighting about. Come on, let’s see if Jill is up and around.”

“Why not just phone her?”

“Because I don’t know who might be monitoring every call that goes on, in, and around these apartments. The less we use public communications the less business of ours whoever listening in will know.”

“Holy smokes, you’re really running scared,” Jim protested, unwinding himself from his seat. He followed Bert into the bedroom adjoining Jill’s suite.

Bert knocked on the door and got no response; knocked again more loudly with the same result, then opened it and called, “Jill?”

A voice from the living room answered, “Come on in.”

She was in a comfort chair, coffee cup in hand, and looking wan. “I barricaded the door last night, on the off-chance that one of you two Romeos would try sneaking in.”

“You’re dated,” Jim told her. “Not Romeos. Sheiks. The men are Sheiks and the girls are Shebas.”

“We wrestled it out,” Bert told her, “to see who’d make the attempt but it was a draw, so we went to bed.”

“My heroes,” she sighed.

Bert then told her about his talk with Katz.

“The Octagon?” she said. “What in the name of heavens do we have to do with the Octagon?”

“Evidently, Katz has some general over there he’s in contact with. They’re both coming to give us their story.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m scared, Bert. I’m a terrible coward I’ll… I’ll stay right here.”

Jim shook his head and said cheerfully, “Everybody’s getting scared these days.”

Bert looked at him. “So would you be if you had the brains.”

Jim grunted. “That’s right. You two are the big brains, aren’t you? That’s why you’ve been selected for this gravy train.”

Jill said to him, “Oh, stop being silly. How’s your arm?”

He looked down at it, still in the black sling. “Much better. I wish we’d had some of these new super-drugs back during the war. They’ve gotten to the point where you’re all healed up before you’ve hardly been hit.”

Bert said to her, “Kay. We’ll meet with our friends and report back to you. You ought to be safe here for a few hours. Be sure you recognize anybody on the door screen before you let them in.”

Bert Alshuler and Jim Hawkins returned to the other suite just in time to hear the ping of the front door. Bert went to it to find the face of Professor Marsh on the identity screen. He opened up.

Bert led the way back to the living room.

Jim looked up from where he was sprawled full length on a couch. “Hi, Doc.”

Marsh said; “Confound it, are you still here?”

Bert said, “I’m not sure I’m going to take any more of your treatment until I learn what’s going on.”

The professor was testy. “Then don’t take any more of those stimulants I gave you. I’d suggest you continue. I am not quite sure what would result if the series was discontinued at this point. I am not even certain that we could pick it up again, after an interim of even a few days.”

“Hell, I’m in it this far,” Bert said in disgust. “Let’s go.”

The doctor-professor opened his briefcase and began to bring forth the now familiar hypodermics and injections.

Jim, watching interestedly, said, “Hey Doc, how about letting me in on this? I’ve always wanted to read War and Peace .”

Marsh ignored him but looked at Bert in irritation. “You’ve been talking too much.” He readied one of the hypos.

“Kay. But you haven’t been talking enough,” Bert said. “This party is getting rough and I don’t mind having a little insurance. Jim’s been an insurance policy of mine for a long time.”

“Old buddy, old buddy,” Jim drawled, “you make our fine, noble friendship sound so mercenary.”

Bert got three shots this time.

Marsh said, “Miss Masterson is in the adjoining suite?”

“That’s right,” Bert said. “What do you want with her?”

“That is none of your affair.” The other began to repack his briefcase.

Jim sighed and brought himself erect. “You might as well go through this way. We’ve opened a connecting door with Jill’s apartment.” He led the professor out of the room, and a moment later Bert heard him calling her name and knocking on her bedroom door.

The phone hummed and he went over. Katz’ face was there, evidently he was calling on his pocket phone. He said, “We’ll meet you in the penthouse of the Acropolis Building in about twenty minutes.”

Bert said, “Who else is going to be there?”

“No one except General Paul. I understand you have had dealings with him before.”

“Remotely,” Bert said. “Majors don’t exactly have dealings with three star generals. Kay, I’ll be there.”

The other faded off.

Jim returned from the other suite and said, “What’s cooking?”

Bert said, “Let’s go. That was Katz. We’re to meet him in the penthouse of the Acropolis Building. Know where that is?”

“Sure. It’s one of the swankiest high-rises in this university city. Do we take our shooters?”

“From now on, old buddy,” Bert said, a grim quality in his voice, “we take our shooters wherever we go. Listen are you sure you want to be in on this? What’s there in it for you, Jim—besides the possibility of being hit again?” He led the way to the bedroom where they had left their laser pistols.

Jim followed him, saying, “Old buddy, I smell money. Piles on piles of pseudo-dollars. Everything about this deal reeks with it. And I’ve got an old belief that if you rub against enough people who are well-breaded, some of the crumbs might rub off on you.”

“Ha,” Bert snorted “And I thought it was affection for your old buddy, old buddy.”

“Ha,” Jim said, taking up his gun and checking the charge. He tucked the weapon back into his belt again.

Bert slipped his into the shoulder harness he was still wearing and said, “Let’s go.”

They remained silent as they sank down into the depths of the Administration Building to the metro station where they took a two-seater, automated vehicle, to the Acropolis Building. The metro there was even more ornate than that of the high-rise where Bert had his quarters. Evidently, the building was very recent.

At the elevator banks, Bert approached an information screen and said, “I wish to go to the penthouse.”

“Name and identity number, please.”

Bert gave them.

“Yes, Mr. Alshuler. You are expected. Please take Elevator Z.”

Elevator Z turned out to be the equivalent of the restricted elevator that Bert Alshuler utilized in his own building.

As they rose to the top floor, Jim looked around the small compartment in wonder. “They’ve done everything but plate it with gold,” he said. “Our race is becoming effete, old buddy. But, as I say, I hope some of it rubs off on me.”

Bert said, “How quick are you with that shooter, left-handed?”

The gun was magically in his companion’s hand. And just as magically back in the belt, beneath the jacket again.

Jim leered at him. “I always was a quicker draw than you, old buddy. Even left-handed. You think we might be using these?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

The elevator finally came to a halt and the door opened. They emerged onto a scene that was hard to believe could be at the top of a skyscraping building. Fully three quarters of the area was gardens, trees, lawns and pools. There was even a small running stream, issuing from a small hill, rambling through the park and then flowing back into another hillock. There were two rustic wooden bridges over it. The whole had been so designed, so landscaped that there was no feeling of being on a building high in the air.