Programmed for Peril

large, inflated by love and anguish. He was a desolate depth-dwelling dwarf desperate to flourish beneath the sun of her companionship.
    Why so timid, Nicholas? He had mind and money— negotiable currency in the mate market. To be sure, he had his... ways. “Mars man,” the riffraff had called him. That could be changed. There were means. A hairpiece could eclipse the full moon of his dome. He could succumb to Sweetest Sister’s long-standing desire “to dress you like a man-about-town instead of a circus sideshow attraction.” More: He could enroll in Dale Carnegie courses. There he would speak publicly, learn the rules for basic human interaction. During three hours Wednesday evenings his rough edges would be filed down, then smoothed by bankers and insurance men joined in mutual pursuit of success.
    Despite his plans for self-improvement, he knew he could never bring himself to call Trish. He had never made a call in his life without a concrete purpose. Phoning merely to chat, to exchange news, was equivalent to picking up the Hot Line. Then she had called him! She had learned her home and office were once again bugged. Could he help her?
    The mere respect he had held for Carson’s technical wizardry expanded to admiration. The man had found ways to communicate on uncommon frequencies, those beyond the reach of Nicholas’s prior equipment. But now... he—no dolt himself—was once again able to get a fix on the signals. The first he found originated from the bugs nestled somewhere in Trish’s house. Their electronic voices angled off toward the center of the city. He drove his van to PC-Pros, circled and circled, earphoned and intent on CRTs. He took a reading, carefully noted degree and minute of the second signal’s bearing. Somewhere the waves from home and business would cross.
    And there Carson would be found!
    Or would there be another relay unit? This time he would investigate in advance. He drew out his detailed, expensive city maps, no mere gas station giveaways. He summoned geometry, wielded protractor, and angled straightedges. The lines crossed hard by a structure the map key indicated was a large residential building. He wheeled the van around and headed across town. His spirits rose. He spun the tape volume up. Lockjaw Davis honked loud enough to outdo Gabriel blowing his final set.
    Several tours around what proved to be a large apartment building in decent condition convinced him that no signals were being relayed on to another node.
    He was homing in on Carson’s lair!
    He chuckled with glee and triumph. Blow, Lockjaw! Blow me to success! Blow me to hero status! Blow me into the arms of Trish My Wish!
    He had learned from previous experience. He drove the van to a parking garage in the next block and left it. What equipment he needed he put into his shoulder bag. This would be an investigative expedition. Finesse and discretion would be his strong suits. He bubbled. He knew he had tracked Trish’s nemesis down.
    From the garage pay phone he called her, pride welling up like water at a mountain spring. He gave her the number and ordered her to call him back from a secure phone. When she did he told her he was sniffing the spoor near Carson’s lair.
    “Wonderful!”
    He heard the delight in her voice, spooned it up like honey. “I’m going to go have a look—very cautiously.”
    She hesitated. “Are you sure—where are you going?”
    “To an apartment house in the north end of the city.”
    “Nicholas, are you sure you should go ahead?”
    “Of course. I’m not seeking confrontation—at all.”
    She hesitated. “I really appreciate what you’ve done, Nicholas. But I think you should wait there until the police—”
    “Those useless people! You’ve told me they’ve done nothing for you. Neither Sarkman nor that Morris man.”
    “Let me get in touch with Dino. He can go with you and—”
    “Play bull in the china shop again? I can handle this. Believe me! We’re only talking data-gathering here.” Nicholas was doubly delighted with himself. Hear how he confronted his love! Long gone was the tongue-tied twit who trembled and twitched before her. Color him confident. “I’ll report back to you shortly.”
    “Tell me the address.”
    “I didn’t notice the number.”
    “Tell me what street—”
    He hung up. He sensed her lack of confidence in him. Annoying! She must learn otherwise. And surely would when he ran red-haired Carson Thomas to earth. From a safe