BURDEN the Hand By RANDALL GARRETT _The clock was self-correcting--so Van Ostrand's plot was foolproof!_ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Infinity November 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "Aren't you boys sort of biting the hand that feeds you?" asked Nikki Varden, staring complacently down the barrel of a Lundhurst Twelve while she kept both hands high above her head. Van Ostrand was big and fat and had sleepy eyes and an oily manner about him that nobody with half a brain could fall for. I, personally, would have picked him as the villain of a vidicast the first time he walked on the screen. He could have played the part to a T. The trouble with somebody who looks that much like the heavy is that your mind rejects the idea. You think to yourself, "I'll watch that guy because I don't trust him, but I doubt if he could really be as bad as he acts--nobody could." Van Ostrand was. He gave a smooth, hardy chuckle and said: "You have a way with words, my dear. However, I have learned that it's perfectly possible to bite the hand that feeds one, provided it is bitten off cleanly at the wrist. Then, you see"--again that chuckle--"you can feed off the hand." "My! What you can't do with a metaphor!" said Nikki Varden admiringly. Van Ostrand said nothing but, "You will oblige me by turning around, my dear." I had to admire the girl, even though she was being an insufferable little prig, acting as though she had too much money, too much beauty, too much talent, and not enough common sense. There were five of us in the big house--Miss Varden, Van Ostrand, the mouse-faced Giles Jackson, the too handsome Bob North, and me. Van Ostrand herded the girl into the big living room; Jackson, North, and I tagged along behind. While the rest of them went on in, I stayed at the door, listening. "Take care of her, North," Van Ostrand said smoothly. North laughed in his rich, hearty way. "Just how do you mean that, Van?" Van Ostrand looked painfully exasperated. "Please, Mr. North; I am much too old and too fat to be amused by your lascivious humors. Put the handcuffs on her before she does something young and foolhardy and forces me to shoot her." "Shoot me?" There was a sneer in Nikki Varden's voice. "You wouldn't." I knew what she was thinking, and I hoped she wouldn't try to act on it, because she was wrong. If she wasn't careful, she'd be dead wrong. Bob North jerked the girl's hands around and snapped a set of magnetic cuffs on them. She said something in a low tone that I didn't get, but it probably referred to either North's ancestry or his questionable birth. North just laughed and pushed her into a chair.