by F. M. Busby
Back across the canyon, still plummeting, again she struck at a grazing slant — rebounded, hit again and skidded, metal screeching against rock — down the cliff as it curved to canyon floor. Can this work? Why doesn’t Erika — ?
Metal flew; windows sprang free of mountings. No steering now — she could not avoid the boulder, struck it glancing and now the car rolled, over and over. She felt nothing but roar of sound; then they stopped, and the roar was in her own ears.
“Erika!” The car sat tilted; she scrabbled free of her safety harness and clambered to see. “Are you all right?”
Blood streaked Erika’s chin but she said, “Well enough — shaken, nicked a little, like yourself. My God! How did you do it? It seemed like hours.”
Startled, Rissa said, “Yes — that’s it! When I saw — we had no chance — it changed, like slow motion on Tri-V. I looked and looked a long time before I decided the ledge was best. Then — ”
Wiping away blood, Erika smiled. “So you’re another!” Rissa shook her head, waiting. “I call us adrenaline freaks — though that doesn’t explain it. But when it’s life or death, time slows — it did for me, too. When we get back — tomorrow, say — we’ll test you.”
The radio brought rescue. Next day, and following days, Erika tested Rissa against simulated emergencies — without success. “Well, some can train it; some can’t. I can’t, but hoped you could.”
“Do you know why not?”
“Maybe we’re too smart — can’t fool ourselves about real danger. And I’m not risking you — or me — in a setup that could be fatal if the reaction isn’t enough to handle it.
“But you can keep in mind, Rissa — when it comes down to cases, you’ve got an ace in the hole!”
Rissa's skills grew, and with them her self-assurance. She had her turn — not quite as soon as Jorge had predicted — with Erika’s “stable” — and was surprised by the real warmth and intimacy within that changing group. When the turn ended, Erika talked with her, the two alone. “You’re a love, girl — we’re all agreed on that. Now this problem of yours — oh, it’s obvious, to me, at least, that you have to fake the high points — well, I think you’ll overcome it sooner or later. The odds are good. And for most purposes you do fake it well. But — and this is vital — don’t ever do so with anyone who is truly, personally important to you. Do you understand why?”
“Because if I fool someone, there’s no way for that person to know I still need help?”
“That’s part of it. Where one fails, two may succeed — but only if both know something’s needed. But also, you can’t help feeling contemptuous of anyone you can lie to, successfully. And contempt is a very nasty poison.”
“I see. And I’m sorry, Erika, because you and others here are important to me.”
The older woman shook her head. “Not the way I meant. You’re here for the year, and then you’ll be gone. I spoke of the kind of importance that sometimes has a future to it.”
She gripped Rissa’s shoulder and shook it gently. “Now you must get on with other matters. I’ll have your things moved to your old room; you have it to yourself now — the Faldane girl’s working at our city offices.” She paused. “By the way — have you had any luck, finding your uncle?”
Rissa shook her head and left.
Computer tapes can be erased; Rissa found no hint that Voris Kerguelen had ever existed. She had better luck with Ivan; he had been moved, but she discovered his new location. When she was certain, she went to Madame Hulzein.
“I’ve found my brother.”
“Well, get him out. I’ve taught you how, haven’t I?”
“Yes. To begin with, my money — or yours, for that matter — is useless in North America if recognized as such; it would be confiscated.” She awaited Erika’s nod. “So we work through established drops and code all communications.”
“Go ahead.”
“I will. But, your advice — which drop should I use? Camilla?”
“No. She wound up her work a few days ago and skipped to Australia two jumps ahead of a Committee arrest order. She sends her best wishes, by the way — says she’ll answer your latest message when she gets settled and has time.”
Rissa smiled. “I am glad. But then, who . . .?”
“Let me think. Do you know the New Mafia codes and dropsigns?”
“I’ve seen them — I know where to look. But — can that group be trusted?”
Erika grinned. “They play a double game — always. But I’m one they don’t cross.”
“Then may I use your sign group in the message?”
“Not the personal one; use the one that says you speak for me. It’s clear enough in the readout.”
“All right. And thank you, Erika.”
In due time, Ivan Marchant arrived. They did not recognize one
another.
“Ivan? Is it you? I’m Rissa.”
The man’s thin face twitched. “I uphold the principle of total Welfare.”
“Ivan!” She turned to Erika. “Are you sure this is my brother?”
“The records say so. Fingerprints and retinal patterns match.”
Rissa went to him. “It is you, Ivan — isn’t it?”
“Ivan Marchant defends the ethics of Total Welfare and always will!”
Erika Hulzein embraced them both. “I’ll take him, Rissa, and try to grow back his mind — what they’ve left of it. I can’t promise full recovery, but I’ll try. My fee’s only half of what it was for you, because he can’t use more than half the training, probably.” Rissa hugged her brother once more; then an attendant led him away. Erika said, “Don’t give up yet, on him; there’s still a chance.”
Rissa spat. “There’s a chance that UET’s Presiding Committee will grow wings. They’ve canceled all future elections; it’s the next logical step. But I won’t sit quietly in a duck blind, waiting for them to fly over!”
Erika’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you’d dropped that idea.”
Half smiling, half snarling, Rissa answered. “Oh, I have — I can’t afford it.” Political assassinations, she had found, came high; all her wealth would barely have bought the death of any one Committee member. “It’s more important that I get off Earth.”
She did not mention her independent negotiations with the New Mafia. The Committee was out of her reach, but she had not forgotten Osbert Newhausen — and she felt her plans for that man might shock even Erika Hulzein. Not death — for David and Selene, for Rissa’s eleven years in Welfare and Ivan’s damaged mind, death was not sufficient. She hoped the general would live at least eleven years . . . .
To Erika, though, she said only, “You’ve taught me a great deal. But one thing I knew already — settle for what you can get.”
“Not too cheaply, however. Remember, Rissa — sometimes you can get more than you might think.”
Rissa laughed. “Yes, I know. And with your training to help me, perhaps I will.”
Her million-Weltmark year neared its end; looking back from what she was to what she had been, Rissa felt that it was worth every centum she had paid.
Now, readying herself to leave, she conferred more often with Erika. During one such meeting, Frieda Hulzein entered. The brown hair of Erika’s heiress was only beginning to show gray, but in some ways the mother seemed the younger.
Frieda sat. “Rissa Kerguelen, isn’t it?” Rissa nodded. “Considering the time you’ve been here, we haven’t seen much of each other. I almost feel you’ve been avoiding me.”
Rissa said, “Your responsibilities and my training didn’t overlap greatly. You are, of course, primarily concerned with management and administration. Your subordinates had charge of my studies in those areas.”
“I suppose so. Well, now — I understand you’re leaving us soon? And like all youngsters, ready to go out and take on the whole world?”
“No. Quite the opposite. I’m ready, as soon as possible, to take off this world.”
Erik
a said, “So you’ll be in touch, you two, over the years. Frieda — we’ll be handling Rissa’s Earthside affairs — you’ve seen the agreements, or will. All standard, with the code-changing sequences staggered on the ABC contingency patterns.”
Frieda nodded. “That’s sound.” She looked at Rissa. “Are you sure you understand how those progressions work? Over the light-years, they can get complicated.”
“I think so,” Rissa said. “As an example, if the mutual lag is fifteen years and my chart begins with AB7, then my first message upon landing would start with — ”
She continued the explanation through the first two changes; then Frieda waved a hand. “All right; you’ll manage.” She stood. “I’m expecting a call. Another time, then.”
When she had left, Erika said, “You don’t like Frieda, do you?”
“It’s as I said — we’ve never had cause to become acquainted.”
“She’s a little hard to know, I realize. But are you sure that’s all?”
“What more could there be?”
Erika frowned, but only briefly. “Quite a lot. And if you were staying here much longer I’d find out, too. You’re a good bluffer but I taught your teachers. Well, it’s not important — over umpteen light-years, personalities don’t matter much.”
“No.” And Rissa left to see to her preparations.
Waiting while certain financial arrangements were completed, she overstayed her year by three weeks. Her investments had prospered; her net worth after all expenses — including the Newhausen contract — was well over 25,000,000 Weltmarks. Part of her wealth she would take off Earth; the rest would work for her in several countries, each group of assets held jointly in the names of two or more manufactured identities. Sometimes, though not usually, her own name also appeared. The network was arranged so that she could reach any holding from any identity in not more than two stages.
Nonexistent personae, she had found, cost money and required supporting paraphernalia. She had three — Lysse Harnain, Tari Obrigo, and Cele Metrokin — and none of them, in speech or appearance, would be mistaken for any other or for herself.
Except for three items, she had stayed clear of North America. Theft and delivery of the fertility-control device was as expensive as Erika had warned, but finally the thing arrived. There was, of course, the Newhausen contract. And Lysse Harnain, Tari Obrigo, and Cele Metrokin, between them and jointly, held nearly 4,000,000 Weltmarks in UET voting stock. That holding was Rissa’s leverage to get her off Earth.
So it was Lysse Harnain, aged twenty-eight, attractive but not pretty, who said good-bye to Erika. Lysse spoke in a shrill little-girl voice. Plastic inserts widened her nostrils; a removable cap gave her a crooked front tooth. Her hair, temporarily reddened, she wore in tight curls pulled to the crown of her head. Thin, indetectable plastic lenses changed her gray eyes to green and would mislead any retinal-pattern check. Tissue-thin appliqués on her fingertips carried the fabricated print patterns on file for Lysse Harnain. Duplicates of these accessories, and their counterparts for Tari Obrigo and Cele Metrokin, were well hidden in her handbag and luggage. The magnetic “faucet handle” masqueraded as part of her hair dryer. Thus equipped, she reported to Erika.
The older woman reached to take both her hands, looked closely at her and nodded. “You’ll do,” she said. “Now — sit down — I’m glad I got back from the city before you left. Are your plans still the same?”
“Almost. I’m not risking North America at all; UET’s subsidiary in Japan seems a safer bet. About a month from now a ship leaves Hokkaido base for Terranova by way of Far Corner. I’ll book all the way through, of course, but — ”
“I thought the Twin Worlds was your goal.”
“My transfer point, you mean? Yes — it was. But your latest Intelligence report — it came while you were gone — says UET smells Escaped Ship activity there. By the time I arrived, those planets might be buttoned up tight.”
“And so?”
“The report also mentions — and this part is from the Underground — Escaped Ships’ contact at Far Corner. And my goal is wherever those ships make their base — the Hidden Worlds.”
“If the Hidden Worlds exist . . .”
“You know they do! They must!”
Erika chuckled. “Of course. Forgive an old woman’s jealousy. For me, at my age, they do not.” Then, “Far Corner, eh? I have an agent there — an Asian — former space pilot. He lost an arm and they left him at the first stop.”
Rissa nodded. “Osallin, you mean. I’ve seen his dossier. He has no love for UET.”
“Does anyone? I doubt those scheisskopfs love themselves! Now, then — you’ll send word?”
“Of course I will, when I can. And you — ?”
The old woman shook her head. “By the time your first message could arrive, I’m not likely to be here. But Frieda will do as I would.”
Though Rissa was not as certain of Frieda as Erika was, she nodded and said, “Yes. Of course.”
“Well, then — do you want to see your brother before you go?”
“No.” Erika’s psych-techs had freed Ivan from much of UET’s implanted compulsion, but his intelligence had only begun to recover, and slowly. “I know he’s safe here — but just in case, it’s as well that only you know me in this guise.”
“Of course.” Both women stood. Erika pulled the girl close and gave her cheek a dry kiss. “All right, Rissa — Lysse — I wish you did-n’t have to say good-bye in that whiny little voice, though I’m gratified that you maintain characterization so well.” She sighed. “Anyway — you’re as capable as I can manage, and more so than most I’ve trained. I hope you get — well, whatever it is you want. You’ve earned it.”
Rissa looked at the woman she had known only a year; the woman who had changed her from an ignorant child to an able, competent person skilled in ways that a year ago she could not have imagined — the woman she could never see again. She blinked away tears; the kiss she gave was neither dry nor perfunctory.
“Earned it? Not yet. Erika — but I intend to.” When she turned away, she did not look back.
A dirigible steamer took her to Mexico City, a suborbital SST to Tokyo Complex, and a hydrofoil to UET’s Hokkaido spaceport. She knew the hotels there, under whatever names, were UET-owned and subject to electronic surveillance; she took care not to breach her Lysse Harnain identity. Using stockholder’s privilege, she booked passage on the Mac-Namara at company discount, bypassing the usual waiting list and screening process. She stayed in her suite and dined from the automated room-service.
Newsfax was part of the service; she made a show of scanning everything concerning the Western Hemisphere and Europe, but paid heed only to the North American printouts, with special attention to that continent’s Midwest area.
A week before her scheduled departure she found the item she wanted. General Osbert Newhausen’s wives and co-husbands had filed unanimously to divorce him, and the general was hospitalized following a suicide attempt. Rissa gave no outward sign of her intense satisfaction. The New Mafia representative had told the truth; the mutated virus was effective, as described.
Although she pretended — for the sake of possible observers — to continue to read the printouts, she had no further interest in Earth’s affairs. During her last evening, however, she used the suite’s communicator keyboard to dispatch a coded note to Erika Hulzein via a Buenos Aires message drop. Decoded, it would read, “On my way tonight. Greatest thanks for all you have done, and love to poor Ivan.”
It may have been the note that was almost her undoing. Leaving from the lower-level terminal, she timed her movements so as to be alone in the tube-capsule that would take her to the ship. But at the last moment a bulky woman ran to reopen the closing door and crowded in to join her. The woman wore the red and blue plastic hood-mask of the North American Committee Police; behind it showed only shadowed lips and eyes. Rissa looked at her and said nothing, thinking, it could be coincidenc
e — but it smells wrong!
“Going off Earth?” The voice was deep, and unexpectedly soft.
All right — the policebitch would have seen the records; there was no point in lying. “Yes, to Terranova. And you?”
A laugh, not soft like the voice, but harsh. “No such luck. Just a little business at the port. Where do you come from?”
She’d know that, too. Lysse Harnain could be — no doubt had been
— traced back to South America. Yet it had not been feasible to change
identities at the brief stops. “Most recently, Argentina.”
“Where in that country?”
The Committee’s hound knew, all right — but make her say it. “A small town, near Buenos Aires. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”
“But I’ve heard of it many times — including just this evening. It’s rather notorious.”
“Then why do you ask?”
The heavy shoulders shrugged. “One way to get to the real questions.” Rissa did not answer. The woman said, “We know you come from Hulzeins’.”
A moment for thought. “I did visit a person of that name. What does that — or this place, for that matter — have to do with your jurisdiction?”
“At Hulzeins’, is there a girl named Rissa Kerguelen?”
By God, they never quit looking! “There are many girls.”
“About seventeen — slim — dark hair. Did you see her?”
“I don’t believe I met her. Why?”
“Wanted on a Committee warrant. The charge is treason. Hulzein should know better than to harbor such persons.”
Rissa manufactured a laugh. “I doubt that Madame Hulzein’s much concerned with your Committee’s machinations. But, yes — now I remember — this girl you mention — she must be the one who killed herself when she saw her brother again. A childish thing to do, but she was barely of legal age. Erika was quite disappointed in her.”
“You’re sure?” The woman’s grip hurt Rissa’s shoulder; she was tempted to break a finger of the offending hand, but waited.
