The first thing the sphere said to him was, “I know the way to happiness.”
Of course, James at once expressed a desire to know the way.
Since then, the crystal ball had said many things, most of them inscrutable.
Now it said, “Salted or unsalted, sliced or cubed, the choice is yours.”
“Can we get back to happiness?” James asked.
“Use a knife and,” the sphere said.
“And what?” James asked.
“And fork.”
“What do you want me to do with a knife and fork?”
“If peeled.”
“You’re making no sense,” James said accusingly.
“A spoon,” said the sphere.
“Now it’s a spoon?”
“If halved and unpeeled.”
“What is the path to happiness?” James pleaded because he was afraid to demand an answer and offend the sphere.
“Long, narrow, twisting, dark,” said the sphere. “For the likes of you, the path to happiness is one mean sonofabitch of a path.”
“But I can get there, can’t I? Even one like me?”
“Do you really want happiness?” asked the sphere.
“Desperately. Doesn’t have to be forever. Just for a while.”
“Your other choice is insanity.”
“Happiness. I’ll take happiness.”
“Yogurt works with. Ice cream works with.”
“With what?”
The sphere didn’t reply.
“I’m in a very bad way,” James pleaded.
Silence.
Frustrated, James said, “Wait here. I’ll be right back. I’ve got something to do for Mr. Helios.”
He found the hidden switch, a section of the bookcase pivoted, and the secret passageway was revealed.
James glanced back at the sphere on the seat of the armchair. Sometimes it didn’t look like a crystal ball. Sometimes it looked like a cantaloupe. This was one of those times.
The sphere was a crystal ball only when the magic was in it. James feared that the magic might go out of it and never come back.
In the secret passage, he came to the first door and removed all five steel bolts, as he had been instructed.
When he opened the door, he saw the corridor that Mr. Helios had described: copper rods to the left, steel rods to the right. A low, ominous hum.
Instead of going farther, James ran back to the start of the passageway, pushed the button to open the bookcase door from this side, and hurried to the sphere.
“What is the path to happiness?” he asked.
“Some people put a little lemon on it,” said the crystal ball.
“Put lemon on what?”
“You know what your problem is?”
“What is my problem?”
“You hate yourself.”
James had nothing to say to that.
He returned to the secret passageway, but this time he took the crystal ball with him.
Victor had asked James to phone him when the task was completed. Alternately consulting his world-class wristwatch and the dashboard clock of his magnificent sedan, he thought the new butler was taking too long. No doubt, awed by his promotion and by the realization that he would be speaking more often with his maker, James approached his mission with excessive care.
As he waited for the butler’s call, the conviction again rose in him that he was not alone in the Mercedes. This time, he turned to look in the backseat, knowing full well no one was there.
He knew the cause of his edginess. Until James completed the task he had been sent to do, Victor remained mortal, and the world could be denied the shining future that only he could create. As soon as the butler reported completion of the job, Victor could proceed to the farm, face whatever threat might wait there, and be confident that the future would still be his.
CHAPTER 62
Chameleon suspects deception.
Once again, the PUZZLE smells like both an EXEMPT and a TARGET. The scent of an EXEMPT is far and away stronger than that of a TARGET, but the second scent is definitely present.
The car has been stopped for some time. Yet the PUZZLE does not get out. It sits in silence behind the wheel.
After a while, the PUZZLE makes a phone call. Chameleon listens, hears nothing incriminating.
But the PUZZLE talks about hidden doors and passageways, a hidden room. This suggests but does not prove bad behavior.
Chameleon assumes that EXEMPTS are incapable of bad behavior. But its program is not clear on this point.
It is permitted to act on assumptions, but they must be Class A assumptions, which in a rigorous application of logic, must conform to at least four of five proofs. This assumption is Class C.
Chameleon is capable of impatience. It has been a long time between kills.
It remembers clearly three kills. They occurred during its testing phase.
The pleasure is intense. The word Chameleon knows for the pleasure that comes from killing is
Its entire body spasms. In orgasm, it is as fully in touch with its body as it will ever be — but, strangely, at the same time seems to escape its body and for a minute or two is not itself, is not anything, is only pleasure.
After the phone call, the PUZZLE sits in silence again.
Chameleon was a long time in the cold. A long time in the imprisoning polymeric-fabric sack.
Now it is warm.
Under the pleasing scent, the infuriating scent.
Chameleon wants an orgasm. Chameleon wants an orgasm. Chameleon wants an orgasm.
CHAPTER 63
Under the dump, Carson and Michael and Deucalion followed the landfill workers and the resurrected Alphas along a passageway that branched off the main course. It would lead them out of the landfill and under the tank farm next door.
Ahead of them, torchlight ignited faux fire across the glazed curves of the tunnel. Because they were at the end of the procession, an inky gloom pooled behind them.
The Resurrector was far in front. Perhaps it had already entered the main building at the tank farm.
