Part 46 (2/2)
On my fourth scan, I whipped past Scholar Phelps, who was apparently deep in some personal interest.
I rose at once and strode down the hall and snapped the door open just as Phelps' completely unexpecting mind grasped the perceptive fact that someone was coming down his hallway wearing a great big forty five automatic.
”Freeze!” I snapped.
”Put that weapon down, Mr. Cornell. It, nor its use, will get your freedom.”
”Maybe all I want out of life is to see you leave it,” I told him.
”You'd not be that foolish, I'm sure,” he said.
”I might.”
He laughed, with all the self-confidence in the world. ”Mr. Cornell, you have too much will to live. You're not the martyr type.”
”I might turn out to be the cornered-rat type,” I told him seriously.
”So play it cagey, Phelps.”
”Scholar Phelps, please.”
”I wouldn't disgrace the medical profession,” I told him. ”So--”
”So what do you propose to do about this?”
”I'm getting out.”
”Don't be ridiculous. One step out of this building and you'll return within a half minute. How did you get out?”
”I was seduced out. Now--”
”I'd advise you to surrender; to stop this hopeless attempt; to put that weapon down. You cannot escape. There are, in this building, your mental and intellectual superiors whose incarceration bear me witness.”
I eyed him coldly and quietly. ”I'm not convinced. I'm out. And if you could take a dig below you'd see a dead man and an unconscious woman to bear me witness. I broke your Dr. Thornd.y.k.e's neck with a chop of my bare hand, Phelps; I knocked Catherine cold with a fist. This thing might not kill you, but I'm a Mekstrom, too, and so help me I can cool you down but good.”
”Violence will get you nothing.”
”Try my patience. I'll bet my worthless hide on it.” Then I grinned at him. ”Oh, it isn't so worthless, is it?”
”One cry from me, Mr. Cornell, and--”
”And you'll not live to see what happens. I've killed once tonight. I didn't like it. But the idea is not as new now as it was then. I'll kill you, Phelps, if for no other reason than merely to keep my word.”
With a sneer, Phelps turned to his desk and I stabbed my perception behind the papers and stuff to the call b.u.t.ton; then I launched myself across the room like a rocket, swinging my gun hand as I soared. The steel caught him on the side of the head and drove him back from his call b.u.t.ton before his finger could press it. Then I let him have a fist in the belly because the pistol swat hadn't much more than dazed him.
The fist did it. He crumpled in a heap and fought for breath unconsciously.
I turned to the wall he'd been eyeing with so much attention.
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