“I don’t know, Claude. I’ve never gone away with a man before.” I wonder if he believes that.
“Oui, but this is not a sex thing. I just thought of the chalet because you said you needed a rest. You can think of me as your brother.” And we will try some good, old-fashioned incest.
The Graceful One was unaware that the various people were speaking in different languages, for she was able to filter them all through her consciousness and understand what they were saying.
I must find a way to get in touch with the mothership, she thought. She took out the small, hand-held silver coloured transmitter. It was a divided neuro-net system, half of it consisting of living organic material and the other half a metallic compound from another galaxy. The organic material contained thousands of single cells, so that as they died off, others would multiply, keeping the connections constant. Unfortunately, the dilitheum crystal that activated the transmitter had broken off, and was lost. She had tried to communicate with her ship, but the transmitter was useless without it.
She tried to eat another leaf of lettuce but she could no longer stand the stench. She rose and started toward the door. The cashier called out after her, “Just a minute, miss. You haven’t paid for your meal.”
“I’m sorry. I do not have your medium of exchange.”
“You can tell that to the police authorities.”
The Graceful One stared into the cashier’s eyes, and watched her go limp. She turned and walked out of the feeding place.
I must find the crystal. They are waiting to hear from me. She had to concentrate to focus her senses. But everything seemed blurred and distorted. Without water, she knew she was going to die soon.
Chapter Twenty-Two
DAY FIVE
Bern, Switzerland
Robert had come to a dead end. He had not realized how much he had counted on obtaining Mothershed’s list of names. Up in smoke, Robert thought. Literally. The trail was cold now. I should have gotten the list when I was in Mothershed’s flat. That will teach me to … teach. Of course! A thought that had been in the back of his mind suddenly came into focus. Hans Beckerman had said, Affenarsch! All the other passengers were excited about seeing the UFO and those dead creatures in it, but this old man kept complaining about how we had to hurry up to get to Bern because he had to prepare some lecture for the University. It was a long shot, but it was all Robert had.
He rented a car at the Bern airport and headed for the University. He turned off Rathausgasse, the main street of Bern, and drove to Langgass-Strasse, where the University of Bern was located. The University is composed of several buildings, the main one a large four-storey stone building with two wings, and large stone gargoyles adorning the roof. At each end of the courtyard in front of the building are glass skylights over classrooms, and at the rear of the University is a large park overlooking the Aare River.
Robert walked up the front steps of the Administration Building and entered the reception hall. The only information Beckerman had given him was that the passenger was German, and that he was preparing his lecture for Monday.
A student directed him to the Office of the Administration. The woman seated behind the desk was a formidable figure. She had on a severely tailored suit, black-framed spectacles, and she wore her hair in a bun. She looked up as Robert entered her office.
“Bitte?”
Robert pulled out an identification card. “Interpol. I’m conducting an investigation, and I would appreciate your cooperation, Miss …”
“Frau. Frau Schreiber. What kind of investigation?”
“I’m looking for a professor.”
She frowned. “His name?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do not know his name?”
“No. He’s a visiting professor. He gave a lecture here a few days ago. Montag.”
“Many visiting professors come here every day to give lectures. What is his discipline?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What does he teach?” Her tone was growing impatient. “What subject did he lecture on?”
“I don’t know.”
She let her exasperation show. “Tut mir leid. I can’t help you. And I am too busy for frivolous questions like this …” She started to turn away.
“Oh, it’s not frivolous,” Robert assured her. “Es ist sehr dring-end.” He leaned forward and said, in a low voice, “I’m going to have to take you into my confidence. The professor we’re looking for is involved in a prostitution ring.”
Frau Schreiber’s mouth made a small “o” of surprise.
“Interpol has been on his trail for months. The current information we have on him is that he is German and that he gave a lecture here on the fifteenth of this month.” He straightened up. “If you don’t want to help, we can conduct an official investigation of the University. Of course, the publicity …”
“Nein, nein!” she said. “The University must not be involved in anything like this.” She looked worried. “You say he lectured here on – what day?”
“The fifteenth. Monday.”
Frau Schreiber rose and walked over to a filing cabinet. She pulled it open and scanned some papers. She extracted several sheets from a folder. “Here we are. There were three guest professors who gave lectures here on the fifteenth.”
“The man I want is German.”
“These are all German,” Frau Schreiber said stiffly. She shuffled the papers in her hand. “One of the lectures was on economics, one on chemistry and one on psychology.”