“You’d be better off.”
I gulped more icefizz, then wiped my mouth and pointed the pac at Marcel. “Look, you’re not telling me anything I don’t know. I know Qualls is up to something—I heard him yelling at you two days ago. I figure he’s planning to skim off a big chunk of the money I should earn from this Hydra show.” I shrugged. “So what? I’ve got enough credit from being Andy Nebula to last me all my life—unless I crash Qualls’s program. What do I care if he gets rich, too? The important thing is to do the show—to do my music.”
“No, the important thing is to not do the show.” Marcel sat down on the bed facing me, eyes narrowed and intense. “Listen to me, Kit. You asked about the other Singles. Qualls offered most of them post-Single gigs, too. And where are they now?”
“You tell me.”
“I wish I could.” Marcel got up again abruptly and paced. “I shouldn’t even be telling you this much. If Qualls finds out—”
“What’s he got on you?”
Marcel stopped dead, and slowly turned to face me. “That’s one thing I won’t tell you. Just don’t ignore this warning, Kit. Tell Qualls you want no part of this Hydra deal, cut your losses and run. You can find another manager, a good one—you’ve got the talent. You could be another Pyotr—”
“Why are you warning me at all? Why take the risk?” I studied him suspiciously. “What’s in it for you?”
“Let’s just say it makes it a little bit easier for me to live with myself—a very little.”
I frowned. I didn’t want this, not tonight, not after that great show. I wanted to keep the high, keep the adrenaline flowing, go out and party, plan my brand-new non-Single show in my head—I didn’t want these veiled warnings and dark remarks and most of all I didn’t want anything to interfere with the bright new future I already had mapped out for myself.
“Fine, you’ve warned me. Now go away and live with yourself. I’m going to take a shower and change, and then I’m headed out on the town.” I emptied the icefizz pac and tossed it into the disposal bin. “And you’d better get back to the control booth, because Qualls said he’d be coming by here shortly to fill me in on the details of the Hydra deal.”
“Kit—”
Suddenly angry, I spun on him. “What? If Qualls is so dangerous, tell me the whole story! Clear your conscience altogether! Make me listen to your warning! Otherwise, lift, because I really don’t see that it’s any of your business what risks I choose to take with my career!” Marcel stared at me, white-faced, then turned and strode toward the door, snatching up his weathercoat on the way. “Good,” I muttered, and sat down to pull off my boots.
But Marcel didn’t go. At the door he hesitated, started out again, hesitated once more, and finally swore, closed and locked the door, and turned back toward me again. “All right, Kit,” he growled. “I’m risking more than you know telling you this—but blast it, I’m sick and tired of watching Qualls get his hooks into you kids. And after Carstair’s Folly...”
“I’m listening,” I said, but I kept removing my boots.
“I don’t know all of it. But I do know this—none of the Singles Qualls has ‘managed’ has ever been heard of again.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe they didn’t have my talent.” I finished with the boots and pulled off my shirt.
“Some of them didn’t. But some of them did. And all of them—all of them, Kit—were offered gigs on Hydra after their tour ended.”
That was news. I stared at him, holding my shirt. “All of them?”
“That octopus called The Dealer—it’s not the first time I’ve seen him with Qualls. And there have been other Hydras, too.”
“Maybe they really like music.”
“Maybe. But what happens to the Singles after they go there? They just disappear. I’ve checked the computer—”
“So have I.”
“And found nothing?”
I tossed the shirt aside. “Nada.”
“Me either. But whatever is happening to them, Qualls is getting rich from it. You’ve never seen any of his homes on various planets—but there’s no way he’s keeping them up on the salary Sensation Singles pays. I should know.”
“Maybe he’s some kind of meatman.”
“I thought of that—but you wouldn’t run something like that out in Hydran space. They wouldn’t be interested.”
I shuddered. “I hope not.”
“And then—” Marcel shook his head. “And then there was that business on Carstair’s Folly.”
“The flashman?”
“Yeah.” Marcel sat down on the bed again, his weathercoat in his hands. “Kit, you asked me straight out before, and I wouldn’t tell you because—well, because I was scared. If Qualls had anything to do with it, he’s an even nastier customer than I thought, and if he finds out I’ve told you all this, or tried to warn you off—”
“I’m not likely to tell him,” I said. “But what about the flashman? Was he—”
“Paris Paradise?”
I nodded.
“It sounds crazy, Kit, and I don’t know how it could be true, but—yes. He was.”
Something cold crawled into my belly and curled up like it was going to stay for a while. “Flash—”
“Flash ages people, but not like that. It was like—like he’d lived a lifetime in the last two years. And it drove him crazy. Along with the flash.”
“And now he’s dead.”
“Yes.”
It might have nothing to do with Qualls, or Hydra, I told myself. Two years is a long time, Paris Paradise could have been involved in something else we know nothing about...
But streetsense clobbered me on the side of the head. I told you to listen to me, it shouted. Bad trouble coming. Lift. Lift now!
I stood up. “You’d better get out of here.”
“Right.” Marcel stood, shrugged on his weathercoat, and held out his hand. I shook it. “Good luck, Kit,” he said softly. “But watch your back. Qualls is a bad enemy.”
“You watch yours.” Marcel nodded, crossed to the door and went out, and I stripped off my mirrortights in a hurry. No shower now—I wanted to be long gone before Qualls came calling. Ignoring my terminal, still flashing furiously at me, I pulled on the same black leathers I had donned after Meta dropped in so unexpectedly on Carstair’s Folly, then grabbed a bag and hurriedly stuffed it with a few clothes (none of which were mirrorcloth), some souvenirs of the various planets I’d been on, a couple of vidchips of my Single and, of course, my Andy Nebula credit chip. Maybe I could draw off some cash before Qualls shut down my account. I tossed in what little food I had in the kitchen, slung my battered old stringsynth over my shoulder, and was taking one last look around to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything when the door opened without warning.
“Going somewhere, Kit?” said Qualls.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Yeah,” I said, hoping Qualls couldn’t hear my heart pounding. “I thought I’d hit the town and sleep somewhere besides this dressing room for a change. Don’t worry, I’ll be on board long before lift time tomorrow.”
“You should have checked with me, first. I told you I’d be by shortly.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to wait all night.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to change your plans. We’ve decided to lift tonight, instead. The transports are already on their way.”
“Oh, come on, Qualls, it’s my first time on the old home planet since my Single broke. Can’t we spare a day or two?”
“I’m afraid not. Our schedule to Hydra is very tight.” Qualls closed the door behind him. “I’ve come to finalize the plans.”
I slowly set my bag down on the floor. The way Qualls moved, keeping himself between me and the door, holding himself ready to grab me if I tried to dodge past him—to have any chance to escape, I had to make him think I didn’t want to. “Great,” I said. “Seems to me I’ve been kept in the dark long enough.”
“Good. Sit down.” I comp
lied, sitting on the corner of the bed closest to the door. Qualls remained standing. “The Dealer will join us momentarily.”
“Orbital,” I said, but my stomach fluttered. Getting past Qualls was one thing. Getting past The Dealer...
Qualls glanced at my flashing terminal. “Looks like you still have one fan left, anyway. Or maybe it’s some local friend. And you were going to leave without reading it? What was your hurry?”
“I just didn’t notice it. I’ll read it now.” I got up and went to the terminal. Qualls didn’t move from his spot by the door—taking no chances, I thought. I turned my back on him and pressed “Retrieve Message.”
It appeared only as scrolling words—no video and no audio. Unusual for fan mail; the girls usually wanted to be sure I got a look at their faces. Among other things. “Concert enjoyed greatly, gladeye,” it read. “Orbital! But liked music from old days better. Urgent I meet with you before you leave planet. At place we were roomies. I am there tonight. Your gladeye octoman, Rain.”
I might have guessed—Rain, again. And this time there was no doubt he really was on the planet, since he wanted to meet at Fat Sloan’s. Maybe that flash of orange I’d seen at the spaceport really had been him. But what was he doing here—and why did he want to meet at Sloan’s? I could almost believe our paths crossing by accident in the Pleasure Planets, but on Murdoch IV, in this sludgepool of a city? Coincidence could only explain so much. I read the message again. It almost sounded like a warning...
Like the warning Marcel had given me—too late.
Way too late. The door opened, and I blanked the screen hurriedly and turned as The Dealer skittered in. No knocking, which mean that not only did Qualls have the master code to my dressing room, he’d given it to The Dealer, too. Throw in Rain’s message, and my streetsense practically had me by the throat now. Get out, get out, get out, lift, lift, lift...
If only I could. Two more Hydras followed The Dealer into the room. I looked at Qualls.
“Business associates,” he said smoothly.
I looked back at the two Hydras. One stood half a metre taller than the other, with tentacles as big around as my forearm. The smaller one’s slender central stalk bent slightly in the middle. Both wore equipment belts; I didn’t know what Hydran weapons looked like, but I would have bet the nasty-looking handle sticking out of the big Hydra’s belt belonged to one. The smaller Hydra chitter-squeaked something at The Dealer, who said to Qualls, “All is prepared. Our ship will lift the moment the merchandise—” a tentacle indicated me “—is aboard.”
I glared at Qualls. “Merchandise!”
“A minor translation problem,” said Qualls. “Please, Kit, sit down.” He pointed to the bed. I circled it and sat on the edge again, ready for any chance to dodge past the three Hydras and out. Not that it looked likely any chance would present itself. “Dealer, I believe you have a contract for the Hydra engagement?”
The Dealer took a glittering disk from his belt; Qualls unfolded his handcomp and slid the disk inside. Words scrolled rapidly across the screen. “Please put your thumbprint here,” Qualls said to me, pointing to a glowing square.
“Not without reading it.”
“It’s perfectly standard and in line with our verbal agreement. It binds you for a minimum of six months and a maximum of two years, at your employer’s discretion, to perform on a regular basis for Hydra audiences, for which a very sizable sum will be deposited in your Andy Nebula credit account, with a percentage going to me.”
“I’m not thumbing it without reading it!”
Qualls sighed. “I suppose it was too much to expect you to, but it really would have made things much easier. Dealer—”
The Dealer chirped, and the big Hydra’s massive tentacles lashed out at me with the speed of striking snakes, one seizing me around the waist, jerking me upright and spinning me around, one grabbing my left arm and bending it painfully behind me, and a third grabbing my right wrist. I tried to hold my fist closed, but the tentacle tightened inexorably, and Qualls pried my fingers open easily and pressed my thumb to the contract. The comp beeped, Qualls withdrew the disk and handed it back to The Dealer, and the big Hydra let go of me.
I lunged at Qualls and smashed him to the carpet before the Hydras could react. The big one almost yanked my arms out of their sockets as he pulled me back. Qualls picked himself up, rubbing his elbow, and glared at me. “Do it now!”
The Dealer squealed at the bent-over Hydra, and the big one tightened his grip even more. The bent Hydra took a vial from a pocket on his belt and shook a thin, bright-green wafer onto the tip of one tentacle. I stared at it, garish against the Hydra’s orange skin, the scene spinning as the blood drained from my head. “No!” I tried to scream, but it came out as a whisper.
“Oh, yes,” said Qualls. “I had hoped to put it off until we were in space, but you’re becoming far too intractable. In any event, it has to be done sooner or later.”
“No!” This time I did scream it. “Qualls, please, you don’t have to—I won’t fight any more, I’ll go to Hydra—”
“Oh, you will indeed. For two years.” He smiled as if at a private joke. “Do you know about Hydra memory?” he said conversationally, while that green wafer hovered centimetres from my face. I had to go cross-eyed to focus on it, but I couldn’t look away. “We have short-term and long-term memory. They have deep memory and surface memory. Everything they see, hear, taste, smell and feel goes instantly into surface memory—which would quickly overload, if they didn’t periodically empty it. So during what corresponds to our sleep they sift through the day’s events at high speed and consciously decide what they want to keep in surface memory and what they want to shift over to deep memory.
“Everything in surface memory is instantly retrievable. Deep memories are not, but any experience similar to something in deep memory will instantly bring that deep memory back to the surface. It’s like living in a constant state of deja vu. As a result, many Hydras, like your old friend Rain, constantly seek unique experiences. It’s their major form of entertainment.”
Rain. He was waiting for me at Fat Sloan’s. He’d come to find out why I didn’t show up, wouldn’t he?
The wafer moved fractionally closer to my mouth. Not soon enough, I thought despairingly. Not soon enough.
“But several years ago a Hydra invented an amazing drug—one that made Hydras forget. Completely. After taking the drug, a Hydra could repeat an experience without consciously being aware he’d experienced it before. Apparently, however, there is a subconscious realization, and the dichotomy between that realization and the complete lack of conscious memory is intensely pleasurable to the Hydras, so much so that the drug proved quite addictive. Naturally, their government moved to control this substance, because an addicted Hydra eventually sinks to the point of enjoying a handful of experiences over and over again, and quits even trying to do anything new.” Qualls laughed. “Rather like the fans of Sensation Singles!
“The government’s actions drove the drug underground and fostered a criminal trade. Then Hydras met humans. For Hydras like The Dealer, it was a very profitable meeting. Not only did humans prove to be a vast market for the drug itself—which they called ‘flash’—they also had endlessly fascinating and diverse performance arts like music and dance, which Hydras enjoyed almost as much as they enjoyed flash. Those controlling flash saw the parallels, and began making human performances available for their customers to experience and re-experience. Use of flash skyrocketed. But these enterprising Hydras still weren’t satisfied. Performances take time—so they decided to do something about that. They began using an odd side-effect of the alternity space drive: the time pocket.”
Even I’d heard of that: a self-contained region of alternity in which time passed differently. Objects or animals placed in it would appear to age in minutes instead of weeks or years. I thought of Paris Paradise and blurted, “You can’t be serious—”
“Kit, I’m your manager. Wou
ld I lie to you? It’s such a beautiful blending of technologies. Step into the time pocket, watch the show, take the drug. Watch the show a dozen times if you want, each time as if it’s new, each time in greater ecstasy. Step out again to find only a few minutes have passed outside, and your employer and family are none the wiser.” He shrugged. “Of course, do it too often and you grow old before your time.”
“And the performer?” I whispered.
“Don’t all little boys want to grow up faster?”
My heart tried to pound its way through my ribs. “But why that?” I pointed my chin at the green wafer.
“Efficiency. The performer—you—has to perform the same number over and over. Flash makes your mind highly receptive to suggestion. We will shape your drug-induced hallucinations so that every time you perform you’ll believe you’re doing the song for the first time in front of a huge and adoring crowd—just like tonight. The drug will also give you tremendous energy, which unfortunately heightens the aging effect, but one must sacrifice for one’s art. And, of course, flash is instantly and intensely physically addictive, which makes control so much easier.” He gripped my chin and tilted my head back so I had to look him in the eyes. He smiled. “One other thing. The contract you thumbprinted gives me legal authority to draw on your Andy Nebula credit account, and bequeaths it to me should anything happen to you. So put your mind to rest about where your money is going—for as long as you have a mind. So far, the cumulative effect of the drug, the time pocket and endlessly performing the same song has driven every Single insane, some in spectacularly fatal ways.” Qualls’s smile turned ugly, and he took the green wafer from the tip of the Hydra’s tentacle. “I look forward to seeing its effect on you.” He nodded to The Dealer.
A probing tentacle found my mouth and forced it open. I tried to bite the leathery alien flesh, but my teeth made no impression and I gagged on the bitter taste. And then Qualls deftly stuck his own finger into my open mouth. The green wafer touched my tongue and instantly dissolved, leaving a faint yeasty taste, and all my resistance dissolved with it.
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