Voices - Vornholt John - Страница 43

Garibaldi started to say more, but then he realized that his job was to ask the questions, not answer them. Let this guy pontificate. “Is Mr. Malten around your office a lot?”

Trishman shook his head. “Not an exceptional amount. Perhaps half a dozen times a year. Surely you can’t suspect him of doing anything wrong.”

“Well,” said Garibaldi, “putting a bill before the Senate isn’t doing anything wrong. I suppose changing Psi Corps wouldn’t be all that wrong either.”

“Then you’re with us,” said Trishman with satisfaction.

“Wait a minute,” said the security chief. “We’re not talking about a political debate—we’re talking about two fatal bombings! If you know anything about this, I expect you to tell me.”

“I think you know about as much as I do,” said the old man, rising and taking his cup to the kitchen. “Do you want to spend the night?”

“What?” asked Garibaldi.

“It’s the middle of the night, Mr. Garibaldi. This is not the time to go running around knocking on doors. Don’t they have night where you come from?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” asked the security chief. He yawned and decided that he was getting tired. He had to meet Gray in the morning, in all likelihood to fly to Mars. No, he didn’t have a hotel room; it just hadn’t occurred to him to get one. On the other hand, could he trust this guy?

“I don’t think so,” he said, rising to his feet. “So are you in favor of the Mix taking over Psi Corps?”

“Instead of the other way around, like it is now?” asked Trishman. “Who wouldn’t be? That doesn’t mean I know anything about how this takeover is going to happen. I don’t.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” said Garibaldi. “Do you know where Ms. Crane is staying on Mars?”

Trishman smiled. “I’m afraid not. You’re welcome to that couch, or not. But I’m going back to bed.”

Garibaldi felt as if he had been dismissed, so he moved to the door and pressed the panel to open it. As he strode out, he was looking over his shoulder to say good night, when strong hands gripped his arms and shoulders. They dragged him back into the room.

He struggled, but there were three of them. They took him by surprise and squirted some stuff in his face that made him swoon. Garibaldi staggered backward, losing his senses, but he managed a lucky swing that caught one of them in the stomach and doubled him over. The other two were still in his face, and one of them squirted him again with the sedative. Garibaldi windmilled his fists in the air, but he wasn’t connecting.

He was slipping, falling, going where no one could reach him.