CHAPTER V

SMELL OF DEATH

Porforio. Queen city of Ganymede, gem of the outer planets. Bright lights and broad avenues and the graceful architecture of a superior culture, all sealed beneath a gigantic plastic bubble.

Cold-eyed, Ross followed Veta and the man called Burrage as they stepped from the transit belt and approached a low, smooth-lined row of buildings.

Veta said, "The last place is my brother's."

Ross nodded, not speaking, and lengthened his stride.

They reached the entrance. Veta started to step into the warning-beam.

But now Burrage caught her arm. "Oh, no, you don't! We're not about to let him know we're coming!" Then, pulling the girl back, he brought a long, hand-broad, wire-and-plastic tube, a beam-bridge, from beneath his tunic. Deftly, for all his lumbering-ape appearance, he slapped the ends of it over both door-casing outlet tubes at the same instant, so swift and smooth that the umbrian waves' flow was broken by only the faintest of click-clicks.

"See? Simple!" Burrage bared stained yellow fangs in an anthropoid grin. "This way, we'll just surprise him." He shoved the door open; gestured. "Stay ahead of me from here on, you two. It's like I say: I really trust you."

Wordless, Ross passed through the doorway, Veta close on his heels.

Sanford Hall's unit was on the second level.

Again, Burrage pushed Ross ahead, then drew his blaster and turned its dial from penetrosion to the impact level. "I'll hit the bolt," he grunted. "The second it shatters, you dive in."

A muffled crash, like that of a gigantic hammer striking. The door burst open. Ross lunged in.

The room was empty.

Now Burrage and Veta joined him. The girl's face was a study in blank disbelief as she stared this way and that. For his part, Burrage walked in ever-widening circles like a caged animal—head thrust forward, long arms dangling.

Ross' lips twisted wryly. He leaned back against the wall.

Abruptly, Burrage halted; turned on Veta. "All right, where is he?" he slashed savagely. "Me, I risk my neck with Cheng an' the FedGov too to come here—an' now your stinkin' brother's not even here—"

He broke off. His brows drew together a fraction, and he sniffed. "This place stinks, even!" he announced vehemently.

Now, Ross, too, was sniffing, straightening. His eyes flicked over the empty room, then fixed on the door of an old-fashioned closet of the pre-sealer period over in one corner.

Crossing to it with quick strides, he jerked the door open.

A stench rolled out into the room. Hastily, Ross shoved the portal almost closed again. "Burrage! Come here!"

The other was beside him in one ape-like bound.

Ungently, Ross shoved him a step to one side. "Get over that way a little. I don't want to open this any farther than I have to." And then. "Ready?"

The other's bullet head bobbed.

"Here goes, then—"

Burrage leaned forward.

Ross jerked the door open once more, swinging it with savage, driving violence. The edge smashed at Burrage's forehead like a poleaxe.

Simultaneously, Ross leaped sidewise, kicking for the back of the other's knees.

The kicked leg went out from under Burrage. Before the man could hit the floor, Ross kicked again—to the temple, this time, short and brutal.

Yet still the man caught Ross' foot ... held it ... jerked him down.

Ross kicked with the other foot—a heel-smash to the teeth.

A guttural, animalistic sound burst from Burrage's throat. Letting go Ross' foot, he clawed forward, grappling.

Rolling across him, Ross clutched for the fallen blaster.

In the same instant, Burrage seized Ross by the hips in a bear-hug. The muscles along his back and shoulders writhed as he drew the grip tighter and tighter.

Ross sucked in air in an anguished gasp. Fumbling, he stabbed at his antagonist with the blaster.

But always the quarters were too close, the danger of killing them both too great.

Burrage tightened his grip. A sound of bone scraping bone came dimly.

Now Veta flung herself into the fray, beating vainly at Burrage's back and shoulders.

She might as well have been a moth on the far side of the room.

Groaning, Ross smashed the blaster down atop Burrage's bullet head.

But the weapon was for shooting, not striking. At the second blow, the light metalloplast alloy shattered.

Veta cried, "Back, Stewart! Roll him back!"

Back bowing, Ross heaved. Together, he and Burrage toppled over.

And now, Burrage's bullet head was close beside the closet door again. Panting and sobbing, Veta swung the portal at the close-cropped skull, slamming it home again and again.

More animal sounds from Burrage. He let go of Ross' hips and, spasmodically, tried to twist away.

Without avail. Ross held him tight.

Another blow from the door-edge ... then another....

Of a sudden, Burrage went limp.

Ross sagged back also, sucking in air in great, lung-deep gulps while Veta cradled his head, sobbing hysterically.

Then, at last, Ross dragged himself up from her lap, and finally from the floor. Unsteadily, he lurched to the closet door, half-opened it, and once again stared into the space beyond.

Veta started to join him. But he shoved her back. "No. You wouldn't want to."

She stared at him blankly. "I wouldn't want to what?"

"You wouldn't want to see what's in there." Ross shuddered. "Smelling it's bad enough."

The girl turned pale.

For now, the stench in the room was well-nigh unbearable.

A hideous stench. The same appalling odor that had permeated the room in which Zoltan Prenzz died.

Ross said, "Go over by the hall door, Veta. And stay there."

Lips trembling, the girl obeyed.

Stiff-faced, Ross opened the closet, then dropped to one knee and peered this way and that.

The thing inside had been a man once. Now, there remained only an oozing heap of protoplasmic horror.

From the far end of the room, Veta said faintly, "Is—is it Sanford?"

"The clothes are his." Ross answered in a toneless voice. "Beyond that, I doubt that anyone could say."

He straightened; turned to go.

And there it was, written in slime, chest high on the door's inner side. 3/111 and the outline of a triangle squared.

Standing so he blocked the closet, Ross swung the door all the way back against the wall. "Veta!"

"Yes, Stewart—?" Quickly, she came to him.

He pointed to the symbols on the door. "Do these mean anything to you?"

"Three one-hundred-elevenths of a triangle squared—?" Brow furrowed, she stared at the inscription for a long moment. "No, I'm afraid it doesn't."

"It does to me," Ross said.

Veta's head came round. "It does—? What?"

"It means we're getting closer." Ross smiled thinly. "And just in case you wonder what we're getting closer to, the answer is; closer and closer to Tornelescu's life catalyst, closer to the formula ... maybe even closer to Adjudicator Pike Mawson."

Veta's eyes suddenly were shadowed. She looked away and bit her lip.

Ross said, "You don't seem very happy."

"Stewart—Please, Stewart...." Veta broke off, lips aquiver. And then, in a shaky, uneven voice: "Can't we forget about them, Stewart—all of them—the catalyst, the formula, Mawson?"

"Oh?"

"Don't you understand? There's death in that catalyst, Stewart—death in it, and everything about it. It's cursed. Anyone who even comes close to it goes.—Like Sanford—"

"I know," Ross said. But the words held no sympathy, no understanding. "Now that your brother's dead, the catalyst's cursed. We should forget about it."

Veta's face came up. She stared at Ross. "Stewart, please—"

Ross kept on as if she hadn't spoken. "The only question is," he clipped, "will some other people forget about it just as easily?"

"Other people—?"

"Yes. People like Commandant Padora of Security, for instance; he's hunting for me, you know. And Cheng—when do you suppose he'll quit? Mawson, too. That man who followed me on Japetus. Astrell. All the others who've got a finger in this pie—" Ross broke off; laughed harshly. "I don't think quitting's going to be as easy as you think, Veta; not by half-a-million light-years."

"But we could run for it, Stewart!" Of a sudden Veta's words came quick and eager. "Even Security doesn't reach everywhere, nor Cheng either. The satellites off the beaten track—even an asteroid with an out-size orbit like Hidalgo's—we could go there. It might be years before they found us, if they ever did."

"True enough," Ross nodded. There was a faint edge of contempt in his voice. "Only I'm not going."

The light in Veta's eyes died. She stared at him in numb silence.

Ross said, "Your brother's dead, Veta. That seems to be all you care about.

"The trouble with me, though, is that I keep thinking about all the other brothers, and the mothers and fathers and sisters and wives and husbands and children too—all the people in this solar system who don't want to die, but who will, just so long as Tornelescu's life catalyst formula stays in the wrong hands."

"Stewart—"

"Whoever's got that catalyst isn't thinking about life, Veta, or people either. He's thinking about power, the same way Cheng and Burrage think about it. He knows that as long as people love life, that catalyst formula can buy the universe for him.

"That's why I'm not going to run, Veta. And that's why I'm going to finish this job, bring in that formula, even if it turns out you're the one who stole it and I have to cut your throat in order to make recovery."

A visible tremor ran through Veta Hall. Stumbling, face averted, she cowered against Ross. "Stewart ..." she whispered. "Please, Stewart, forgive me. Let me go with you. That's all I ask—" And then: "Hold me, Stewart. Just hold me."

Slowly, Ross brought his arms about her. His face was lined, his eyes somber.

After a moment, he said, "We've got to go, Veta. Now. Every minute's precious."

Instantly, the girl straightened. "Of course, Stewart." A smile, tremulous and uncertain. "Where—where are we going—?"

"We'll find out in a minute." Ross stepped over to the wall com-set and dialed a number. A moment later he said, "Mr. Lindgren, please." And then, after another pause: "Peter?—This is Stewart."

A longer pause, replete with sputtering sounds. When the sounds had died, Ross said, "I know I'm wanted, Peter. That's why I'm calling on you: I need help, badly. Otherwise I may not be able to wind up this business, get back that formula. And without the formula I'm in for a sure short-court."

More sputtering. More waiting.

Finally Ross said, "Either you want to help me or you don't, Peter. What I need is any information you can give me on an address: number III of side three, Triangle Square, Calor City, Mars."

Silence. Echoing eternities of silence.

At last Veta Hall whispered, "What makes you think those symbols represent that address?"

"Tornelescu's laboratory was located at number 121, side two. I found that out at the briefing when I took on this assignment."

"Oh."

The com-set again, but with swift, clipped words instead of sputtering.

A thin smile came to Ross' lips. "Thanks, Peter." He flipped off the switch.

Veta's eyes locked with his, her face a wordless question.

Ross' smile grew. A grim smile, without mirth.

"Come on," he rapped. "We're back in business." And then, as he steered the girl towards the door: "Number III's a warehouse owned by the Japetan Trading Coadunate, and Adjudicator Pike Mawson is the coadunate's director!"