Ron—Don't wait another moment. You'll find a suit of clothes in the closet left. Leave through back stairway marked N. There is money in suit. Use it to leave the city. Do not return if you value your safety and the life ofM.
Ron—
Don't wait another moment. You'll find a suit of clothes in the closet left. Leave through back stairway marked N. There is money in suit. Use it to leave the city. Do not return if you value your safety and the life of
M.
He found the clothes as directed, a neatly-cut suit of boy's clothing, with a small wallet stuffed with bills amounting to three hundred dollars. He dressed rapidly, opened the door, and peered down the hall. It was empty as he ran silently towards the exit marked N.
Now he was doubly in debt to Dr. Minton. But he couldn't spare the doctor even now, for his life had been given a new direction and purpose.
He was going to kill the Scholar.
He walked rapidly through the dark streets towards the public parking lot where the helicopter had been stored. He took the lift to the roof, and walked up to it quickly.
"It's about time, pal."
It was Shock, his hair tousled over his hard, bright eyes. There was a gun in his hand.
"I've been waitin' an hour, you punk. Think you were gettin' off so easy?"
"Look, Shock—"
"You thought you were a clever boy, didn't you? Well, I got news for you—"
"Look, I don't want to be leader. I just needed a copter for a few hours."
"Yeah, sure. Only you forgot something. We put Finder equipment on this baby a long time ago, so we could keep tabs on it."
"You canhavethe copter—"
"I don't want just the copter, Ronnie boy. I want to square a few things with you."
"Look, Shock. I'll make a deal with you. I'll give you two hundred bucks for that gun."
The tall boy's face changed. "What?"
"You heard me. You hand over that gun, I'll give you two hundred dollars."
His eyes narrowed. "Then what? I suppose you'd shoot me and take off. Uh-uh, pal."
"You can check the gun downstairs, and sell me the key."
"Okay," Shock said slowly. "But if you're pullin' something—" He balled his hands menacingly.
They went down to the lower level together. Shock bought himself a public locker, and shoved the gun inside. Then he held up the key.
"Here it is, pal. Two hundred bucks worth."
Ron handed him the money. Shock whistled at the sight of the bills.
"Now," Ron said. "Would you like to make a hundred more?"
He looked at Ron with respect. "Okay. What's the pitch?"
"I want you to make a phone call for me."
"Yeah, sure." Shock looked bewildered. Then Ron explained.
They reached the guard in the East Wing of the Medical Center without much difficulty. Shock crouched over the receiver and said:
"This is Dr. Luther. Something's happened; you better connect me withhim."
"Okay, hold on."
There was a wait. Then Ron Carver's own voice, in its eerie new inflection, was on the other end.
"What is it?"
"This is Luther. Something's happened down here. I think the boy got away."
"What? Where are you?"
"In the morgue, downstairs. I think you better come down yourself."
"How could it happen?" The Ron-voice was raging. "How?"
"I don't know. But you better meet me here in ten minutes—"
Ron jabbed Shock in the side, and the tall boy slammed the receiver back into place with a relieved sigh.
"I don't get it," he said. "Who was that guy?"
"Me," Ron said, with a grim smile. He handed Shock the money, and watched him depart, still looking baffled. Then he went to the locker and removed the gun, stuffing it inside his jacket. It bulked large against his narrow chest.
He raced through the streets back to the medical center, heading for Exit N and the morgue.
Ron was waiting, gun poised, behind the empty slab. A shadow covered the dim light behind the glass-plated door, and the Ron-body entered the silent room.
He saw his own hand reaching out to flick on the light switch. He saw his own face register dismay and annoyance at the quiet scene.
Then the Ron-body turned and was about to leave.
"Stay awhile," Ron said.
He stood up, revealing the weapon, holding it in both of his small hands for firm control of the trigger.
"Well," his voice said.
"Yes, well," Ron answered. "Very well, thanks. Only I won't speak for you, Scholar. Because I don't think you're well at all. I think you're out of your mind...."
The Ron-lips curled.
"Naturally. Genius is akin to madness. It's one of the deep-rooted convictions of the human ego. It reflects their suspicion, their distrust of the superintelligent ... I understand you, Mr. Carver."
"And I don't understand you! You're something new to me. Maybe you're better than us, maybe you're worse. I don't know, Scholar. But that's not why I'm going to kill you—"
"Oh?"
"No! You think I want to kill you for the sake of the world? Because you're a menace to homo sapiens? Because of your contempt for us ordinary mortals? Hell, no, Scholar! I'm too ordinary myself. I'm killing you forme, for Ron Carver! Because I'm sore! Just plain sore!"
He raised the gun.
For a moment, Ron didn't know what had happened. Something else blurred his vision, a fast-moving figure bulking up in front of his target. It was only when he heard the voice that he recognized the intruder as Dr. Minton, and he saw then that the doctor had rescued the Scholar from certain death.
"Stop, Ron—"
"Doctor! Get out of the way!"
"No, Ron. You don't know what you're doing—"
The old man was shielding the Ron-body with his own. Ron put the weapon down.
"But why?" he said.
"Because this is no answer! This is the assassin's way—" He turned to the Ron-body, and his voice was shaking. "Listen, Scholar. I want to arbitrate. Will you listen?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Yes!" the doctor said fiercely. "Life or death! Will you listen to my terms?"
The Ron-body shrugged. "All right."
"Very well. Then I want you to spare Ron Carver. I want you to allow me to deliver him into the hands of friends, deliver him alive and safe. In return, I promise that your twelve-year-old body will leave this Earth virtually at once. I will send it to the colony on Mars, where it will stay until adulthood. Will you allow this?"
The Scholar's smile was thin. "And that is your only condition?"
"My only one!"
"Doctor—" Ron stepped towards him. "You can't leave things as they are—"
"Are you willing, Scholar? Will you let Ron Carver live his life in peace?"
The Ron-body stiffened.
"Yes," he snapped.
"Ron—" the doctor waved towards him. "Hand him your gun."
"What?"
"Give it to him! We've made a pact."
Ron hesitated, and then extended the butt towards the Scholar. He took it with a slight bow, weighed it in his palm, and then slipped the weapon into his pocket.
"You did wisely," the doctor said, with noticeable relief. "If you had turned that gun on us, Scholar, I would have killed you on the spot." He patted the metallic bulk beneath his own coat. "I came prepared, too...."
The copter rose serenely towards the heavenly vault. Ron's small body was feeling the effects of the day's strain. It collapsed against the leathery cushions, the short arms and legs limp and dangling.
The doctor patted his knee. "Another few moments," he said.
"Where are we going?"
"To the spaceport in Winnipeg. I have a friend there. He has two children of his own, both born in the Mars Colony. He'll be returning there within the week."
"And you want me to go with him?"
"Yes, Ron. I want you to grow up all over again, and then return to Earth. It won't be easy for you, but there will be advantages. Your life span has been lengthened. And right now, you know, you're something of a prodigy yourself." He chuckled dryly.
"And what happens here?" Ron said bitterly. "What kind of Earth will I find on my return?"
"An older Earth. Perhaps a wiser Earth...."
"No, doctor." Ron forced himself to a sitting position. "Not with the Scholar alive and thriving, growing stronger and more intelligent with every passing year. It'll behisEarth when I return...."
The doctor stared at the night sky before answering.
"No, Ron. He'll never live to see it. I knew that when I selectedyourbody to house his mind...."
"What do you mean?"
"I chose you for a reason, Ron. A vital reason. When you came to my office on your return from Andromeda, I discovered something about you which made up my mind. An ailment without a name or a symptom, found only rarely in the bodies of a few space travelers. You had it, Ron, and in a year or two, it would have struck you down with the savagery and surprise of lightning.
"It was then that I agreed to the Scholar's plan to exchange bodies. Agreed to it on my own terms, with the body of Ron Carver...."
"Then I'll die!" Ron said.
"No, Ron. You will live. It's the Scholar who has made the bad bargain...."
In the distance, the lights of the Winnipeg spaceport blinked a welcome.