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Authors: Dean Koontz
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fact, even more stunning than before.
"He's around the fountain," she said. "It's not so public on the other side."
"Let's go," he said.
The pool had a diameter of two hundred feet, and to walk around its circumference required a good deal of nudging, jostling and—in Polly's case—trampled feet. In a few minutes, they broke out of the worst of the crowd, through scattered tourists, to the far back of the pool where the bench that rimmed it looked out onto woods and was screened from the other side by the rock tower of the fountain and the huge spray of water. Here there was only one couple, arms around each other, watching the rise of the water, and a small, thin, intense man in a dark suit. He rose as they approached, then sat down when Polly did. Ti hovered before them, very close so that whatever was said could be kept from the ears of the young lovers.
Introductions were made, and Ti discovered the man was Mr. Kealy; he thought it likely this name was a cover identity. The thin man was nervous, looking about as if he expected someone to jump from one of the trees. "I doubt your friends would be here," Ti said, trying to reassure the man. "It's hardly their form of entertainment."
Kealy nodded, looked at Polly; their eyes locked a short moment She seemed to wince, and Timothy wondered what the two of them had just exchanged without benefit of words. "Timothy," Polly said, drawing his attention to her lovely face. "Mr. Kealy wants to talk money first. He—" She abruptly stopped talking, raising a tightly clenched fist from her lap toward her mouth, and the look on her face gave Timothy almost enough warning.
He whirled as Kealy slipped the hypodermic syringe into his hip, just above the silver cap of his mobility system. Had it been a narcodart, he might still have had time to deflect it.
But it had all the force of the small man's arm behind it—and was therefore unmoved by the ESP talent.
Kealy depressed the syringe plunger; icewater flushed Into Ti's hip.
He wanted to scream.
And he wondered if it were too late to bother…
CHAPTER 7
His body was no longer a smoothly functioning machine, but twitched and shivered as the drug flushed through it. He felt strangely hot and cold at the same time. He fancied he could even feel his blood surging through the tight walls of his veins and arteries; it was icy, nearly frozen, and the flesh it moved through was dry and hot as if it had been baked in an oven. His facial features seemed numb and twisted so that his countenance must have been more horrible than usual. He knew, if he had had feet and hands, those limbs would have been immobile, useless, semi-paralyzed as was his face.
He tried to ask them what they had done to him.
The words would not come; there seemed to be fingers around his throat, crushing it shut…
Kealy rose, gripped him, and began to turn him around, away from the fountain. Ti tried desperately to order his servos to attack the little man, but the artificial hands just floated to either side of him, locked to their "hold" pattern. They would go wherever his grav-ball went, but would not follow his directions. Then he tried to flip switches inside his grav-plate mechanism, to make it lift up and up, to its limit of eighty feet, up where they couldn't touch him. But there was no response from the ball when he tried this.
It was then that he realized they had given him something that blanked out his psionic ability…
He was helpless as he had not been since he had left that hospital and had been educated by the weapons-hungry generals. He wanted to scream and kick and shout and swing his servos, not so much to attack those who had done this to him, but to work off some of the energy of terror that adrenalin was pumping through his twisted hulk.
Kealy turned him completely about and started pushing him toward the trees. Ahead, the young couple stood, watching them. Ti wanted to shout, cry out, scream at them for help. He concentrated on
"He's around the fountain," she said. "It's not so public on the other side."
"Let's go," he said.
The pool had a diameter of two hundred feet, and to walk around its circumference required a good deal of nudging, jostling and—in Polly's case—trampled feet. In a few minutes, they broke out of the worst of the crowd, through scattered tourists, to the far back of the pool where the bench that rimmed it looked out onto woods and was screened from the other side by the rock tower of the fountain and the huge spray of water. Here there was only one couple, arms around each other, watching the rise of the water, and a small, thin, intense man in a dark suit. He rose as they approached, then sat down when Polly did. Ti hovered before them, very close so that whatever was said could be kept from the ears of the young lovers.
Introductions were made, and Ti discovered the man was Mr. Kealy; he thought it likely this name was a cover identity. The thin man was nervous, looking about as if he expected someone to jump from one of the trees. "I doubt your friends would be here," Ti said, trying to reassure the man. "It's hardly their form of entertainment."
Kealy nodded, looked at Polly; their eyes locked a short moment She seemed to wince, and Timothy wondered what the two of them had just exchanged without benefit of words. "Timothy," Polly said, drawing his attention to her lovely face. "Mr. Kealy wants to talk money first. He—" She abruptly stopped talking, raising a tightly clenched fist from her lap toward her mouth, and the look on her face gave Timothy almost enough warning.
He whirled as Kealy slipped the hypodermic syringe into his hip, just above the silver cap of his mobility system. Had it been a narcodart, he might still have had time to deflect it.
But it had all the force of the small man's arm behind it—and was therefore unmoved by the ESP talent.
Kealy depressed the syringe plunger; icewater flushed Into Ti's hip.
He wanted to scream.
And he wondered if it were too late to bother…
CHAPTER 7
His body was no longer a smoothly functioning machine, but twitched and shivered as the drug flushed through it. He felt strangely hot and cold at the same time. He fancied he could even feel his blood surging through the tight walls of his veins and arteries; it was icy, nearly frozen, and the flesh it moved through was dry and hot as if it had been baked in an oven. His facial features seemed numb and twisted so that his countenance must have been more horrible than usual. He knew, if he had had feet and hands, those limbs would have been immobile, useless, semi-paralyzed as was his face.
He tried to ask them what they had done to him.
The words would not come; there seemed to be fingers around his throat, crushing it shut…
Kealy rose, gripped him, and began to turn him around, away from the fountain. Ti tried desperately to order his servos to attack the little man, but the artificial hands just floated to either side of him, locked to their "hold" pattern. They would go wherever his grav-ball went, but would not follow his directions. Then he tried to flip switches inside his grav-plate mechanism, to make it lift up and up, to its limit of eighty feet, up where they couldn't touch him. But there was no response from the ball when he tried this.
It was then that he realized they had given him something that blanked out his psionic ability…
He was helpless as he had not been since he had left that hospital and had been educated by the weapons-hungry generals. He wanted to scream and kick and shout and swing his servos, not so much to attack those who had done this to him, but to work off some of the energy of terror that adrenalin was pumping through his twisted hulk.
Kealy turned him completely about and started pushing him toward the trees. Ahead, the young couple stood, watching them. Ti wanted to shout, cry out, scream at them for help. He concentrated on
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