by Steve Perry
The stink of death was in the air, and Abner Brookings had no desire to add his own to the mix.
He reached over with his rifle and tapped Petra on the shoulder.
“I don’t like the turn of events. Let’s go.”
“Maybe we should grab the blaster.”
“Uh-uh. That’s going, to invite another attack. Let’s see how fast you can run. Follow.”
So saying, he turned and started running back the way they’d come.
The remaining hunters were mostly frozen, transfixed with terror. Their protectors, after all, had been killed, and now they were effectively alone in the wild in a confrontation with an unknown enemy.
Two of them began firing randomly into the brush.
Mistake.
Deep in the pit of his instinct for survival, Brookings knew this was a mistake. Exactly how, he had no idea… but there was something…
He didn’t dwell on the subject. He just ran on it, offering absolutely no resistance.
Petra’s footsteps and huffing sounded behind him. The woman was smart. Follow the lead of your betters… a practice that Brookings had always used personally.
He was in good shape, a good runner, and he felt the chemicals of his fear charging through his muscles like well-oiled, high-octaned pistons.
The path back was beaten, and the other end was clear and free. If he could make it back there, Brookings had the feeling that he could make it.
Behind him he heard the shrill sounds of shots and screams.
The massacre he’d foreseen was in the offing.
He put on a burst of speed.
Behind him he heard the sound of a trip, the stutter of attempted renewal of balance, and the chuff of bushes swept aside by a fall.
“Brookings. Give me a—”
A muffled yell.
Brookings’s natural inclination was just to keep on running. However, he sensed he was in an area of safety, for now. He could spare a few seconds…
And boy, would Petra owe him.
It was better than money. It was a power that Brookings actively cultivated. He stopped, went back to where his fallen colleague was lying on her stomach, struggling to get up.
“Come on, chum.” Brookings reached down and pulled Petra up by her arm. “No time for lying about. We’ve got to save our—”
He realized that the squelched screaming wasn’t coming from the distance.
It was coming from Petra.
Affixed to her face was some sort of crablike creature. Brookings could see the ridges of blood where it clung, like some hellish mask.
Brookings let go and backed away.
There was nothing he could do. Nothing.
Abner Brookings was a man of quick, decisive powers, and he made a fast decision now. He was going to have to leave Petra to fend for herself.
The sound of the dying filling his ears, he turned and ran for all he was worth.
8
The planet Blior was an Earth-type world, fourth of seven planets around a GO sun. It had five moons, none of which were large.
When Machiko had read the specs on the computer in her prepping work, she had understood why Livermore Evanston had taken the time, the trouble, and the huge expense to settle and colonize this world for his own business purposes. It was an ideal world, with a nice atmosphere, a perfect axial spin, which gave it mild seasons, and a terrific balance between sea and land. There were twenty-nine Australia-sized continents distributed around the planet. Evanston had actually started his colony on only one, leaving lots of room for growth.
This island continent was called, arrogantly enough, Livermoreland, with its capital city dubbed Evanstonville. When the rich man’s yacht landed at the compound’s spaceport, and Machiko stepped out onto the fresh tarmac and got a lungful of the air, any doubt of the planet’s beauty and worth was immediately erased.
However, she was distracted by what was waiting for them: a group of twenty-one people, dressed in exaggerated military garb, reminiscent of the plumage sported by officers in the Napoleonic wars. They raised rifles and fired into the air in salute to the return of their obvious leader.
Evanston saluted them, smiling broadly.
“A little flourish of mine I enjoy. I employ a great many people, and we often have old-fashioned reenactments of famous battles from various parts of history. Gives my security forces a chance to exercise. We have an adequately trained force of two hundred people, with a hundred reserve. Of course, they also have other jobs and functions.”
“Security force? You’re in the middle of nowhere. What do you need a security force for?”
The smile became a frown. “You never know. The unprepared planet is the doomed planet.” He brightened. “Besides, it amuses me. Warfare, after all, is a form of hunting. And re-creation of battles is a valid sport. No one is hurt—much less dangerous than what people pay me for. I’m hoping to make these kinds of re-creations a larger part of the entertainment here one day.”
“Have you had any run-ins with belligerent intelligent life?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean that I won’t,” he said sharply, momentarily showing a harsh side. He softened, allowing the charm to flow back in. “Please. Allow a rich man his paranoia After all, I allow you a sidearm.” He nodded down to the holster, which held an old-fashioned .38 revolver, a weapon that Machiko felt comfortable with and had requested permission to use.
“True. It seems to be a scary, unexpected universe.” She nodded at the uniformed people. “If you’ve got all these guns and warriors here, what do you need me for?”
“You and the others I’ve employed recently are specialists, Machiko. My security forces are merely people with guns and a lot of time on their hands. You are a past master—an artist, if you will.”
She let it drop and watched for a moment as the military sorts marched off to canned martial music. She was amused by this display, but mostly she was impressed by the scenery around her.
This was an incredible world.
She’d seen that on the way down, through the viewers. Evanston had shown them a special travelogue detailing some of the features. The usual panoply of waterfalls, crashing surf, sunsets, throbbing music, majestic mountains, jewellike jungles, purple waves of grain, et cetera. Machiko always just sort of tuned these kinds of things right out. You could doctor the hell out of images, and even though you could get some wonderful 3-D in-your-face special effects out of the medium, there was absolutely nothing like being there.
Blior had that pristine, rapturous glow of nature and creation and life and rock and water and pure air that the homeworld of Earth must have owned at one time, before Man and the alien infestation sullied it with agriculture, industry, and his own fungoidlike growth.
Even when she had been in a spaceship, she could almost smell it. Blior had that quality. It was a life-world, and to Machiko, despite her own difficulties with that particular state of being, these were the kind of planets to her taste.
“Very habitable,” she said coolly, her reserve checking her enthusiasm.
“Rather nice piquant touch to the air, don’t you think?” said Evanston, who had accompanied them down the ramp. Just on the edge of the launchpad, a large limousinoid carrier was pulling up. He gestured for them to move toward it “Like an excellent year of Beaujolais, just decanted.”
Attila sniffed tentatively. “Smells of exhaust to me.”
“My goodness, Machiko. Your crony has an extraordinarily sour frame of mind for one embarking on such an exciting adventure.” Although Evanston clearly didn’t like Attila, he bore the android’s presence with a bluff kind of humor that Machiko appreciated. Odd rich duck that he was, he was the kind of impresario whose language, carriage, and demeanor were at least always entertaining.
“You have to excuse Attila He resents anyone who enjoys life.”
“To the contrary. I applaud. I’d enjoy life a great deal myself—if I had one.”
“Please, just ig
nore him. He really does have a heart of gold.”
“Is that how they make androids these days? Well, I suppose gold is a good deal cheaper now.”
“Sticks and stones, Mr. Evanston.” The mouthy android shrugged. “Okay, okay. Actually, I say this begrudgingly, but it is quite a world, and from my stay on your ship—which I enjoyed immensely, particularly your library—I’d venture to say that the eponymous city we are about to behold will be quite something as well.”
“Absolutely, absolutely. But I warn you both—don’t compare the ship to the world. The city is most explicitly not constructed along classic masculine lines. You will see Victoriana or whatnot here and there, where appropriate—however, for philosophic purposes I’ve instructed the designers to dispense with most of the curlicues.”
Attila shrugged. “Perhaps you’ll allow me to have access to your yacht occasionally?”
Evanston beamed. “Certainly. Glad to keep you interested. Considering your disapproving intellect, I seem to have captured some of your imagination.”
“Any warlike nature is just a program I employ when necessary. The purpose of war is to bring peace.”
“Ah yes. That Chinese war philosopher said that, didn’t he?”
Attila seemed impressed. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Lao Tzu?”
“Precisely. But didn’t he also say, ‘The purpose of peace is to prepare for war’?”
“Only in terms of balance.”
“Your interpretation. Allow me mine.” Evanston gestured. “Besides, this is not about war… Hunting is far more primal, elemental.”
“And these days, exclusive…” said Machiko. She gave Attila a “Would you please shut up” kind of look, and the android nodded grudgingly.
“Also, this world is about far more than hunting. I’m not, after all, totally bloodthirsty.” The irony was rich in his voice, and Machiko’s chuckle was honest. “This world is about—enterprise.”
“Free enterprise?” said Attila, taking on an interested tone.
“Well, it’s certainly not free,” replied Evanston. “You’ve got to be extremely well-heeled to come here. I suppose I’ll eventually make a profit. You’ll have to ask my business people about that. On second thought, don’t. They advised against it.” He shook his head. “People with no vision. Still, business, hobby, whatever—it’s a magnificent place, and I’m sure you’ll be quite impressed with it. In fact, I’ll give you the Cook’s Tour, forthwith.”
As soon as they arrived at the limousinoid, a man hopped out of the backseat.
“Good day, Mr. Evanston,” the man piped. “Welcome back. And good day, Machiko Noguchi and Attila the Hun. Welcome to our magnificent planet.”
“How does he know our names?” asked Machiko.
“I took the liberty of subspacing the results of my quest back to my highest officers. This, my new friends, is my personal secretary and entertainment director, Willem Cordial.”
The man gave a brisk, self-mocking bow. “At your service. I’ll be in charge of your personal needs during your stay here,” said the man. “Anything you want, I’ll get it. If this were a giant luxury hotel, I, Willem Cordial, would be your personal concierge!”
Willem Cordial was a short, slender man with blond hair, a perfect tan, and sunglasses. He wore khaki shorts and loafers shined to a glossy finish, a short-sleeved safari jacket, and a large rimmed safari hat. He had a clean-scrubbed, young look about him, and a squeaky, obsequious voice. There was a gap between his front teeth, and a feathery caterpillar of a mustache perched precariously below his nose.
“I sincerely hope that on your agenda for this stay will be the bagging of some big game!” said the man.
Machiko could only goggle. The guy seemed more like a comic parody of a hunter than anything approaching manliness and competence. She looked over to Evanston to see if this was some kind of joke, but for all intents and purposes Evanston was very matter-of-fact with the man.
No jester here, just another unusual facet of an unusual operation.
I’m sure we’ll take time for that, if time is indeed provided, Mr. Cordial,” said Machiko. “However, we are here primarily to do a job, not partake of the obvious—ah—benefits of this world.”
“Nonsense,” said Evanston. “You’re entitled to have a good time on your leisure hours and days, and Willem here will make sure you do. Isn’t that right, Willem?”
“Entertainment is indeed my job.”
“Excellent,” pronounced Evanston. “Now, your bags will be along presently. In the meantime well show you Evanstonville and then take you to your quarters.”
Willem Cordial gestured to the open car door and the luxurious leather seats beyond. “Please, just slide on into this climate-controlled vehicle, and we will endeavor to be of whatever service we—”
A sudden screeching of wheels got their attention.
A small sporty car was approaching them at high speed. The low car squealed to a stop just short of the limo, its bubble top popped, and a man jumped out of the car. He wore an expensive suit and tie, but looked disheveled and out of sorts. As he approached, Machiko could see that he had flesh-colored bandages on his face. “My God, Brookings. What happened to you? Abner Brookings, this is Machiko Noguchi. I have indeed retrieved her and she’s in our service.”
“Great. Nice to meet you. Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Evanston. I heard you were landing. I must speak to you personally.”
“Well, of course. I should be in my office later on in the day.”
“I’m sorry, sir. This is a vital issue and I must talk with you immediately. Important business…”
There was a wild and frightened look in his eye, and Machiko could sense that this man was not used to being frightened.
“Surely—”
“If I could just have your ear for a moment.”
“Excuse me.”
The two men walked back toward the car, out of earshot. The well-dressed man made a few heated gestures as he spoke in a whisper.
“Something’s going on,” said Machiko.
“Who is that guy?”
“He’s a prominent lawyer, working on some high-level business here,” said Mr. Cordial. “Now, then, if you’ll hop into the car, we’ll be all ready—”
“Has it got anything to do with my assignment here?” said Machiko.
“I haven’t the foggiest, really,” said their host. “Now, if you will get into the car—”
“I agree totally. Machiko should know,” said Attila, turning as though to walk toward the talking men.
Cordial became noticeably flustered. “Please, no… please cooperate.”
“No need to rock the boat, Til,” said Machiko, placing a calming hand on her android’s arm. “After all, we’re just hired hands.”
The little man noticeably relaxed. “I think you’ll find this vehicle very comfortable. We have a variety of music, snacks, and a full beverage bar for your needs.”
Attila got in first. Machiko was about to follow when she realized that Livermore Evanston was clomping back to join them.
“No, no,” said the big man. “Continue. I’m afraid I have to attend to something immediately, and so I’ll be riding back with Mr. Brookings. Mr. Cordial, would you be so kind as to take my place in showing these folks around?”
Cordial positively beamed “Why, yes, sir. And I think we’ll actually be able to hunt up a splendid time.”
“Good. Good. I will speak to you later, Noguchi, when you are comfortably situated in. your quarters.”
The usually affable, in-control Evanston looked quite preoccupied, thought Machiko.
She slid in beside Attila while Cordial spoke to the driver a minute.
“Wonder what’s going on,” said Machiko.
Attila wore a puzzled, worried expression. “I heard a few of the words.”
“Well?”
But then Cordial was back, all smiles and goofy good cheer, and they were off on their tour, their guide yak-yak-yaking
away.
9
Evanstonville was clearly more a settlement than a real city; however, it was spread out over a wide area, and there were many large and architecturally interesting buildings. It was set in a beautiful valley beside a meeting of two rivers. Trees and grass and plains surrounded it, green and vibrant.
As they drove along a road that crossed one of the rivers via a lovely old-fashioned bridge, Cordial explained that rather than allow his own city to grow in a haphazard fashion, Livermore had, with the help of experts, planned the whole thing out beforehand. Vital pieces—spaceport, essential roads, bridges, quarters and residences, storage places and parks—had been set in first, and as time and tide allowed, and actual colonists came to live and work on the world, the place would grow in a preordained and contained fashion. In this way there would be an aesthetic to every part of the city when in the fullness of time it was completed.
They drove past fountains and gardens and spectacularly designed buildings, many of which were just under construction. After viewing the city hall and main hotel, Machiko had to allow that she was impressed. There wasn’t just money going on here, there was taste.
Then they stopped at a duck pond in the central park, and she had to reconsider.
Not that the park wasn’t beautiful. It was. As centerpiece to the entire settlement, and to the future masterpiece city, it was already galaxy class. All manner of trees and grass and flowers and other blended botanical wonders were sculpted into a paradisal vision of nature, complete with rolling fields and swooping copses, glimmering streams and waterfalls, pretty ponds, and in the very middle, a splendid lake stocked with fish and graced with a collection of the greatest variety of Earth ducks and swans and other waterfowl that Machiko had ever seen.
“Very nice,” she said.
“Rather like an interesting Western version of a Japanese garden, don’t you think?” said Attila.
Mr. Cordial beamed with the compliments. “I think that all sorts of influences can be seen in this park.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far, Til,” said Machiko. “I mean, where’s the Zen garden, for instance?”
