Udge kept a tight grasp on his left arm, walking close. Asan’s wrist had been treated for the break, but it still ached. Tlar cellular structure was different enough from human to alter the length of treatment time necessary for complete healing. But no one was much interested in his health. After all, he was scheduled for execution soon.
Behind him, Hux brought Zaula along. Kor was not in sight. Asan was relieved to be spared the Vyarian.
At the end of the soft tunnel, they passed through a second airlock directly into another ship. Udge really was taking no chances.
Asan took the seat assigned him and strapped in. It was a narrow shuttle, the kind used for short flights and planet hopping. He was beginning to feel depressed. Udge tuned out everything he said. Martok was likely to be even less reasonable. He might never get the chance to offer his deal. He might be going straight to Kor’s dinner table.
Frowning, he braced himself for the whiplash takeoff customary with shuttles. Zaula and then Udge spoke to him, but both times he remained deep in thought and did not answer.
“He’s gettin’ nervous,” said Udge to Zaula. “Tobei always was nervy when the game was on. It gave him an edge. It gave him a mouth too. Martok’s gonna like to see him this way. Martok likes ’em scared when they die.”
Zaula gave him a cold look. “It is not permitted for a n’ka to spread the blood of a Tlar leiil.”
“Sure, babe. Sure.” Laughing, Udge patted her knee. “Whatever you say.”
The short run took fourteen hours. Asan slept in his seat and awoke with a jerk to find his neck stiff and his body cramped. He rubbed his gritty eyes and unsnapped to get up.
Udge’s hand hit his chest and shoved him back. “You crazy? We’re about to land.”
Sighing, Asan settled back in the uncomfortable seat that was not designed for someone of his size. The pilot was the casual type who preferred to show off his skills rather than remember he was carrying passengers. They swooped down so fast Zaula was sick upon the carpet.
“Aw, hell,” said Udge in disgust. He frowned at Zaula, who was looking distinctly yellow. “You want to end up on the auction block, little dandy? Get yourself prettied up now.”
She stiffened in outrage, but before she spoke Asan caught her eye and turned down his palm. For a moment she looked like she would explode anyway, but instead she managed to remain silent.
They landed with a flair that wasted fuel, the engines screaming in reverse rev. The hatch opened. Udge sprang to his feet and stood where Asan could not jump him.
“Don’t worry,” Asan assured him. “I’m not going to try to take the shuttle. You’re getting nervous in your old age.”
“I’d rather be old and nervous than dead,” Udge muttered.
Light stabbed into the dim interior of the shuttle from outside. With it came scents of natural air, warm and tangy with sea salt.
“You first, Tobei.”
Asan bent double to go through the hatchway and descended the steps into pellucid, yellow light so intense he squinted and lifted a hand against the glare. The sun was directly overhead in a sky tinted a pale green. Its heat scorched him through his clothes. He drew himself up to his full height and stretched, enjoying the sensations. He’d been cramped and cloaked and shivering for so long on Ruantl, he’d almost forgotten how nice weather could be on a decent Class-M world.
The shuttle had landed in the center of a circular, spacious pad paved with tarmac that was sticky in the heat. On two sides the vastness of the sea boomed and crashed into the shore, sending up plumes of spray. Webbed fliers flapped and dove, plunging into the water only to emerge into the sky seconds later with fish wriggling in their beaks. Squat trees with thorny trunks and lacy, blue-gray fronds rustling in the breeze were planted at the edge of the landing pad. Somewhere out of sight in the distance Asan could hear female voices and laughter.
It was idyllic, except for the squad of armed guards standing alert on the pad to meet him.
Udge greeted the officer in charge of villa security—a squat, one-eyed man wearing a blue badge on the breast of his tunic. Asan recognized him as Colonel Pared, a man who had, in his youth, led his home world in a rebellion against the GSI. When that failed bloodily, he became a notorious gun-runner and guerrilla leader on scat tactics across the galaxy until Martok hired him. Pared was on more wanted lists than anyone could count. He had saved Martok from two takeover assassination attempts. He was, perhaps, the only member of the organization Martok trusted, and even then Martok never failed to raise Pared’s salary every year.
Pared’s one eye glared at Asan, who hastily reminded himself that he was a Tlar leiil and met that hostile gaze as steadily as he could. It was impossible, however, not to look past Pared at the domed roofline of the villa beyond, where sentries stood silhouetted against the green sky. A protection drone, lethal and hair-trigger sensitive, hummed by overhead.
“Enster, is this a joke?” snapped Pared.
Udge’s weathered face reddened. He held out the thwart meter. Pared stared at the blinking yellow light but did not take the meter. After a second Udge pocketed it again.
“I don’t know how he did it this time, but we don’t call ole Tobei the chameleon for nothin’.”
“Impossible,” said Pared. “You have netted an impostor. Blaise Omari must have found the thwart, removed it, and planted it on this alien.”
Hope lifted in Asan. If Pared didn’t trust the meter, Martok might not either.
“Planted it?” repeated Udge angrily. “How? You designed the damned thing, Pared. You said it’s impossible for the wearer to detect it. Besides, he’s done admitted he’s Tobei.”
Pared’s one eye shifted back to Asan.
“A lie,” said Asan in Tlar, well aware that Pared’s translator implant was twice as sophisticated as Institute equipment. “I am—”
“We’re wasting time,” said Pared, turning away. “There’ll be no reward for you, Enster. But since you brought something in, the men need target practice. Men, close ranks!”
The guards circled in around Asan and Udge. The muzzles of their max jambolts pointed at Asan. He knew a moment of blind, gut-clutching fear. Then he grabbed Udge’s arm.
“I won’t be splattered across this tarmac alone, Udge.”
But before he could move, Udge shouted, “Wait! Dammit, Pared, you ain’t gonna jack me out of my reward. Me and my free raiders been runnin’ this thwart line too long for you to cut it now. I’m gonna take Tobei in to see Martok, so back off.”
There was a long beat of silence in which all that could be heard was the squawking of the sea birds and a restless snip-click as one of the guards adjusted the velocity action on his weapon.
“Very well,” said Pared at last. He stepped back and gestured at his men to stand down. “I don’t think Martok will appreciate your joke.”
Udge glared at him. “Just get out of the way!”
As Pared and his men moved aside, Asan let out the breath he’d been holding. Udge turned on him.
“Don’t look so smug. I ain’t lettin’ ole One Eye do me out of my reward, see? But either way, it’s good-bye to you, Tobei.” He glanced over his shoulder at the pilot waiting in the shuttle hatchway. “Let her out.”
“How beautiful!” exclaimed Zaula, emerging. “The warmth. The fragrance of…Dilgel m’a-anhr!”
It was a most improper oath for an above-caste female. Turning in surprise, Asan saw her staring at the sea in wonder and a little fear.
He moved away from Udge to touch her arm in reassurance. “The sea.”
She showed her palm. “We are told of the wealth of water in our nursery stories. But no one ever spoke of how beautiful it could be.”
“Come on, come on,” said Udge impatiently. “This isn’t a Playworld tour.”
He pointed, and Asan started walking with Zaula following one step behind him in the way of respect. They went up a ramp and out across a causeway spanning the ocean between the pad and Martok’s v
illa.
The island supporting the house was low and flat so that the structure seemed to float above the waves. The villa was an airy, spacious structure of glass and stone, round in the center with flying buttresses of steel extending from it. A blue carpet of grass set off masses of brilliantly hued flowers. Yellow birds sang in the trees, and here and there small furred creatures with long tensile tails scampered among the foliage.
“Asan, look!”
Forgetting protocol, Zaula grabbed his sleeve and pulled him over to the railing of the causeway to point.
“Look at the animals. They act tame. They’re even playing. Have they no fear?”
“They’re pets,” he said, and thought with a shiver, like I used to be.
“Move on,” said Udge, and started whistling the old bar song of “Got you, baby/Got you now.”
Asan glared at him, but Udge just grinned.
To Asan’s surprise, they were conducted up the broad stone steps to the front doors of amethyst crystal. Drones with blue stripes painted on their sides opened the doors with chimes of welcome.
Zaula twisted around to stare at them.
“Machines have replaced slaves,” he said, taking her hand.
She shivered, her dark eyes wide and shining with wonder. “Truly we are in the place of Beyond. Was Tlartantla like this?”
He reached into the deeper memories that were not his. “Very near.”
She sighed with pleasure.
He wished, as they moved into a spacious receiving area which was all white walls and bleached wood adorned by simple sculptures from the classical Othalic period of Ghirdana history, that he could share Zaula’s enjoyment of all this beauty. She was trying not to goggle at the lavish use of wood. Even the floor was wood. On Ruantl such a display was impossible.
An android of superb quality met them. Only a certain deadness of expression around the eyes betrayed that she was not real. She wore a bright blue sarong that left her shoulders bare. Martok blue. The badge of his possession. Her eyes were the same color.
“Udge Enster, welcome,” she said.
Udge stepped forward. His cheek bulged, but then he glanced at the shining floor and did not spit.
“Martok ready to see us now?”
“Soon.” The android turned her head and stared hard at Asan and Zaula.
Zaula gestured in annoyance and whispered mentally to Asan, Such rudeness. I do not like—
Asan touched Zaula’s arm. She is a machine. She isn’t staring at us. She’s running us through a security scan and data check to see if we’re supposed to be allowed inside.
A machine! said Zaula in astonishment. But—
“Security abort,” said the android, turning back to Udge. “Non-Tobei entity. Explain.”
“He’s Tobei all right,” said Udge, holding up the thwart control. “Look, we’ve already been passed by Colonel Pared. What’s the hitch? My boys upstairs at the station are gettin’ restless thinkin’ about the money they’re gonna spend.”
The android’s expression became stern. “All execution subjects are relayed through the underwater hatches. This entrance is denied.”
While Udge argued with her, insisting that Martok had told him to drag his prisoner right through the front door, Asan turned at Zaula’s tug on his sleeve and pretended to listen as she exclaimed over the beauty surrounding her.
To their left he could see through an open archway into a spacious room furnished with plant fronds and oversized white banquettes. A wall of windows overlooked the ocean where little white tops were running in on the tide. There were at least a dozen people in the room. They were either human or Ghirdanan with the bored, sleek look of sophisticates. One woman wore her long auburn hair in a fan radiating out from her skull.
Zaula nudged Asan. Look. Look.
He had a vision of the woman having to go crablike through doorways because of her hairdo and shared it with Zaula, who chuckled. The woman seemed to hear, for she glanced their way. Her eyes were proud and incurious although she allowed her gaze to linger upon Asan. He guessed these people to be elites shopping for thrills or a new zine supply. Elites loved to flirt with danger by dealing only with central figures, who in turn manipulated the elites for their money and legitimate connections.
“Their clothes,” whispered Zaula, unable to tear her gaze away. “I have never seen such clothes. What are—”
“Over here!” said Udge impatiently. “Hurry up.”
Tension curled through Asan like a spring. He formed his rings, ready to apply sonthi methods of inner control if necessary. But oddly enough he was calm. Usually when he was in danger he walked on edge with every sense strained and alert. Now, his limbs felt heavy and slow. His breathing was deep if not quite steady. His heart was barely beating.
“Asan?” Zaula suddenly stared at him in concern. “Is thee well?”
He moved a fingertip in answer, wondering if this might be the last time he ever saw Zaula. He wanted to speak to her of his feelings, but there was no chance as the android led them through the elites in their shimmering clothes and husky voices. Udge met their glances and uplifted brows with a wide grin. Asan and Zaula ignored them.
On the far side of the room was a ramp spiral. When they started up this, Asan’s heartbeat quickened. Suddenly he could breathe more normally. It couldn’t be an execution, he told himself. Those happened down in the damp caves beneath the villa. Martok must have seen him through a cam observer and gotten curious. They were going to talk. He would have a chance to convince Martok to listen to his offer.
He caught Zaula’s eye and smiled. All is well.
At the top of the ramp, two protective drones and a live guard stood before double doors of small glass squares, each a different color. The sun shone in from a skylight overhead and made the doors glitter brightly.
“How pretty,” said Zaula.
Asan glanced down at her with a brief smile, momentarily caught by the highlights the sunshine struck from her hair. Then it happened.
The drones opened the doors, sending prisms of light dancing on the walls, and a combination of odd odors rolled out from the room beyond. Very old leather, waxed wood, wine—either imported from Terra at prohibitive cost or stolen—and cloth, also old, and dusty.
The smells struck his memories hard. He had come to this room only once before in his life; he’d even forgotten all about it. That had been when Udge first brought him into Martok’s service. It was the first time he ever saw Martok. Now he was coming here for the last time.
Something queer rolled through his stomach. He felt a curious weakness spread through his limbs. He stopped dead, his air choked off in his throat. He was suddenly blind with a loud roaring in his ears.
He stood there frozen, his muscles locked tight.
As a boy he’d been terrified of this place, terrified of Martok who held the power of life and death over him. Later, he’d shut the memory away, glossed it over in an effort to deal with the fear, until he managed to forget it altogether. Martok knew his secret, the secret even Udge did not know. At any time, on any whim, Martok could betray him and send him back to the life of a labor drone with a wiped mind.
Not now, he thought desperately, trying to pull himself together. I’m safe from that now.
But the fear remained, stronger than his rational mind.
Everyone was staring at him, waiting for him to go inside. He couldn’t. He had ceased even to breathe.
Udge prodded him. “Time to meet your maker, Tobei,” he said, laughing.
Asan flinched. It was an old Earth saying that meant nothing. He turned his head with an effort to stare down into Udge’s small, malicious eyes. Udge did not know the truth he spoke.
For Martok is my maker, thought Asan. Martok owns Laboratory 80 where I was made.
Human! cried a corner of his mind. Real born!
But Asan was no longer so sure. The android’s sophistication had shaken him. Maybe Martok’s scientists had made more adva
nces than had been publicized. Maybe they really did have the ability to create labor drones with minds and souls.
What about the womb memory?
He clung to it without much belief now. Maybe that was incorporated too. After all, the most expensive androids were given memory implants to augment their artificial intelligence circuits and to enable them to react naturally.
I don’t want to know the truth. Either way, I don’t want to know.
But he had to face Martok. And when he walked into that room, sooner or later he knew he would use his rings to learn the facts of his origin.
There came the sound of a chair scraping back over the wooden floor. And then a dry, whispery voice that used to plague his nightmares when he was only a small-time crook working the back streets and waiting for a chance to infiltrate the Institute spoke to him from inside the room:
“Is that BLZ-80-4163? Enter. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a long time about an account past due.”
Asan swallowed hard.
Udge frowned at Asan. “BLZ what? What the hell is he talking about?” He raised his voice. “Sir? I’ve brought in Tobei as ordered.”
“Yes, Udge. Thank you. The reward is waiting downstairs.”
Udge grinned and gave Asan a shove. “Go in, Tobei. I guess this is good-bye for us.”
Feeling as though he walked into darkness, Asan steadied himself and entered.
Chapter 13
The room was empty.
Surprised, Asan stopped and looked around. The room was small in scale; his height filled it. The cool shadows were in sharp contrast to the sunlight flooding the rest of the villa. Wooden shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling and supported a fortune in leatherbound books. As antiques they were rare and priceless. Asan had never seen actual books anywhere else but here.
In the center of the room stood a vast desk all of wood, also old, also priceless. There were gilded carvings on its panels. At a less tense time, he might have touched the desk and linked back to the carver kneeling among wood shavings as he labored to create this thing of beauty.
Requiem for Anthi: Anthi - Book Two Page 15
