“You think he’s lying?”
That was a knife, the blade ice-cold, thrust in Todd’s gut. “I don’t know. At least I hope I don’t.” Dian looked up at him, puzzling out the words. They didn’t say any more, conscious of the watchdog wall monitors. But she nodded. They would discuss it later, where there wouldn’t be anyone else to hear. Todd returned to the painful family argument. “I’ve seen him and Mother butt heads plenty of times. This one’s different. For one thing, this time he’s going to win.”
“Cutting the apron strings, now that he’s going to be a papa,” Dian said soberly. “Painful but necessary. It has to happen. Older generation. Younger generation. That baby’s the next generation. It’ll have to cut loose from Papa and Mama someday, too.” Dian pointed to the door to her right. “I’ll stop and chat with the doctor. You go on and see Carissa.”
Saunder money had converted one of Ippolito’s room-sized wardrobe storage areas into a small obstetrical facility. Day and night, trained med staff remote-monitored Carissa and the fetus. Todd checked to see if it was all right for him to go on into the bedroom suite. They cautioned him not to tire the expectant mother and granted permission.
Carissa was propped on mountains of pillows, as was her wont. Todd had spoken to her on the com several times the past week, and he had always seen her in pretty much the same situation—a small, pale face and figure in a huge bed, surrounded by frilly cushions and coverlets, monitor terminals and prescribed medicines cluttering the side tables and the shelf above the bed. The only thing that had changed from the last time he had spoken to her on the com was that this time she was wearing chic blue bedclothes, not green ones.
As he pulled up a chair, Carissa stretched her hands to him. “How are you?” he asked. “You look beautiful, as always.” Ritual compliment, expected.
Carissa drew him forward, kissing him on the mouth. It was more than a sisterly peck. He had been through this routine before, and resisted it as he had before, acutely uncomfortable. Nothing ever came out in the open, but it had been there since Pat met Carissa three years earlier. Todd had never voiced his feelings, preferring to bury them, not wanting to create trouble. He had thought the pregnancy would eliminate that subtle seductiveness in Carissa’s nature. Obviously it hadn’t. When he didn’t respond, she sighed and sank back on the pillows. “Oh, I’m fine. Tonics and vitamins and viral shield medications, the works.”
“You have to follow orders. That’s a very important little fella you’re growing there,” Todd said encouragingly. She was studying his face, looking worried. “I’m okay, too. Not a scratch. Honest. They dented my flier a bit, but not me.”
“I’m so glad. The reports sounded awful.” She was silent a moment. She was beautiful, more beautiful than Todd had ever seen her. Dian had referred to something called the glow of pregnancy. That must be the explanation. Carissa’s pale fragility was now enhanced by a special form of new beauty. Despite all the concern for her, she didn’t seem particularly sick or weak. She looked pampered and was enjoying it. But her endearing little smile was gone. “Todd, couldn’t you stop them?”
The monitors at her bedside. Jael was right. Carissa had seen Pat and Jael going at it. “They won’t hurt each other. It’s just a lot of noise. I’ve been through it before.”
Carissa wasn’t convinced. “They cut off the signal. Pat doesn’t want me to see them, to be with them . . .” Her lower lip protruded in that silly little-girl pout that was so cute. The doctors were making her a prisoner for the next six months. She had been promised a window on the world so she wouldn’t miss anything. Pat had taken away her toy, not letting her participate—even if it was an ugly family fight she was missing right now.
“He just doesn’t want to upset you, ‘Rissa. You know you have to take things easy. They’re . . .”
“Arguing over me,” she finished for him. She had put her finger on the situation astutely, but her green eyes were innocently wide. The effect was disconcerting. “Maybe I should be flattered, but I’m not. Pat’s not even whoring around as much as he used to. Oh, don’t look so shocked, Todd. I’m not that naive. But he’s squabbling with Jael so much, with everybody. It scares me.” She let go of one of Todd’s hands and absently stroked her abdomen. As yet, there was no visible sign of her pregnancy.
We can’t see the incoming alien vehicle, either, but it’s there. And this baby’s going to grow up in a future that’s forever changed, because of that other, as-yet-unseen newcomer.
“‘Rissa, it’s just that they’re both under so much strain right now. They worry about you and the baby and about that campaign. Things will smooth out eventually, I’m sure of it.” Todd was lying. He wasn’t sure of anything any more. He had a momentary urge to ask Carissa about the Antarctic Enclave, but that was ludicrous. Aware of Pat’s affairs or not, sharper than she looked or not, she wouldn’t know anything about the reprogrammed computer or the missing people on Mari’s list. He realized, with an inner start of surprise, that he had missed the chance to ask Jael if she knew anything about it. Pat was too drunk now, and he hadn’t shown any guilty reaction to Todd’s remark. But Todd had ridden to the terminal with Jael. He could have asked then. He hadn’t. Todd examined his reasons, frightened: Don’t ask. If she refuses to answer, she reveals something by it—covering up for Pat, perhaps. Better to assume she’d react as Pat had, blankly, knowing nothing.
Why can I seek knowledge, accepting the risks, when it comes to the alien messenger, but not when it comes to my own family?
Carissa was talking, not expecting him to answer. “I can’t campaign with him until the baby’s born. I hope that won’t hurt his chances with the voters.” She plucked at the antique, silken coverlets. “He worries so much. About that alien machine of yours . . .”
“It’s not my machine, ‘Rissa. I found it, that’s all, like someone spotting a comet through a backyard telescope. An amateur, stumbling onto something big. But now that I have found it, I want to talk to it, communicate with it. That’s terribly important, ‘Rissa, for you and your baby, for all the other babies about to be born now and in the future. It’s tomorrow.”
“I . . . I’m trying to understand that. So is Pat. He really is.”
Todd longed to use her as another means of communication, one that could reach Pat where he had failed. Pillow talk? He had denigrated Carissa’s talent for that. But she was pregnant, and Pat obviously was very proud and possessive. There was a chance that would change things, change them around the way Todd prayed they would go. If they could just repair the breaks in the connection . . .
“Don’t be angry with him, Todd,” Carissa said sadly. “Jael’s mad at him so much these days. And he’s so afraid everyone will judge him without hearing his side of the story. Afraid they’ll jump to conclusions.”
“That’s my situation regarding the alien messenger.” Todd said, seizing on the analogy. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions about the aliens who built it. We can’t even talk to that little machine yet, not really. I want to hear its makers’ side of the story—just as I’d want to hear Pat’s.”
She stared at him a while, then said, “I’m scared.” Todd started to reassure her, thinking she referred to the supposed menace of the alien vehicle. “All these bodyguards and weapons,” she went on, “we’ve never had so many before. Jael and Pat say they want to make sure no fanatic or enemy breaks through and hurts us . . . hurts the baby.” Again she stroked her abdomen, looking at nothing, plainly worrying about the dangers of being an attractive target.
Todd heard someone come in, glanced over his shoulder, and saw Dian. She smiled and greeted Carissa, standing on the other side of the big bed. Carissa nodded and continued as if there had been no interruption. “Pat said something about ‘full strike and counterstrike ability.’ Missiles and all that. He said I’d be safe anywhere in the Saunder empire. Isn’t that a funny way of thinking of it? Empire!” She saw their shock and went on ingenuously. “Oh, yes! At Saunderhome a
nd the Swiss estates and Manila—everywhere. Pat said it was all taken care of and I shouldn’t worry about him or Jael when they’re away from me on the campaign. They’ll have bodyguards and armed vehicles . . .”
“Are they really in that much danger?” Todd asked weakly, exchanging a worried look with Dian. “Why do they need so much firepower? The Trans-Pacific war’s over now. These riots aren’t that much of a threat to him. Pat’s the world’s most popular politician,” he finished with some bitterness.
Carissa snuggled into the pillows, smiling like a cat. “Yes, I know. He’s going to win. All the predictors say so. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all be together again at Saunderhome this summer, after the baby’s born? We could watch the election returns from there.”
A lovely wish. Impossible. Not in that space of time. Goddard’s enemies weren’t going to go away. Neither was the alien messenger. All the paranoia Pat’s warning speeches were causing now would still be there, probably intensified, in August and September.
“ ‘Rissa, would you do something for me?” Todd said suddenly. She was lightly raking her nails across his palm, but he managed to extricate his hand without being obvious. “Would you try to make Pat see that the alien messenger needn’t be an enemy we have to fight? Make him understand that—”
“It’s for you and your baby, Carissa,” Dian chimed in. “You don’t want that baby to be involved in an interstellar war, do you?”
Three years ago, Todd would have thought that argument futile, used on Carissa. He hadn’t seen beyond the little-girl manners and the sweet, husky voice. Now he knew Carissa was thinking it over, comprehending more than she seemed to.
“No, of course not. No one wants that.” She didn’t reach for Todd’s hand again, but she held him, sensing the two of them were looking for an excuse to leave. They didn’t want to tire her, yet she clung to their presence. Carissa’s head turned, her blond hair swirling about her shoulders. She looked at one and then the other. “You have to promise me something.”
“If we can,” Dian said, taking the words away from Todd lest he be tempted to agree to too much without knowing what the commitment involved.
“Don’t judge Patrick, not without a trial. He’s afraid that’s what you’ll do.” Carissa giggled childishly. “I’ll be your spy, try to make him understand about the messenger.” The silliness evaporated. She was deadly serious. “And you, if I need you, you’ve got to help. I don’t know how much longer I can keep them from . . .”
“Carissa,” Todd explained carefully, “Dian and I will be in space. It’s not safe for Project Search down here, and I can handle ComLink from orbit just as well as from Earth.” Dian eyed him sharply, again reading things underneath the words.
The woman in the bed shrugged off his excuse. “You’ll come. I know you will. You’ll have to, Todd.” There was a hint of desperation in her voice. Todd didn’t know her nearly as well as he knew Pat, but, as he sometimes was in talking to Pat, he became convinced Carissa was sincere about this. No act. No little-girl melodramatics. “Don’t judge him until you talk to him. Help me. Help me to help them.”
Reluctantly, unsure if the bargain was an honest one, or if he had even a small portion of the reasons behind it, Todd took her hand once more. “I promise.” Dian sucked in her breath, disapproving. “I’ll come. I’ll help.” Todd forced a very shaky smile. “After all, as Mother always told us, we Saunders have got to stick together.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ooooooooo
Masquerade
WHEN they left the underground apartments, Todd turned down the guards’ offer to bring him whatever vehicle he wanted as a stand-in for his damaged aircraft. Wary of any train or car that might be bugged, Todd shook his head and led Dian out of the immense structure. The guards stared after them, bewildered, unable to believe a Saunder would go out into the city on foot, without an escort.
The broad avenue north of the SE Complex was brightly lit and patrolled by CNAU Enforcement. Crowds were smaller there, now that it was past midnight. Still, the bustle of people and traffic provided a kind of haven, anonymity amid the night life. The sounds were white noise, covering conversation, letting two people talk about dangerous secrets.
Dian had been remarkably patient. Grateful for that trust, Todd let the accumulated rage and frustration boil out. Dian listened, appalled. As he detailed the suspicions and the terrible proofs, she shook with empathic anger and fought back tears. “Damn them!” she exclaimed in a whisper. “I just felt it, ever since they destroyed Project Search . . .”
“Just the offices. The project’s going on,” Todd insisted, his arm about her.
Dian leaned against him, still shaking. “Everything fits. I just knew it. Anatole and Gib and what they did to Beth, and now you . . .”
“No. Killing me would have been breaking their orders.” Todd added grimly, “But the next time they might not be so fussy. I’m not going to give them a sitting target any more. From now on, I’m taking the initiative.”
“We are,” Dian corrected him. Her tone left no room for discussion. She sniffled and wiped her eyes, and asked with blunt simplicity, “How do we beat them?”
“First, I’m going to Antarctica.” Street noises surged around them as Dian sucked in her breath and held it for a long moment. “They have two targets,” Todd continued, “and I’m connected with both of them. They want Project Search shut up. They can’t control it and it threatens Earth First’s campaign. But now I’ve started to poke into something else—the anti-Spacer conspiracy. Somehow the SE Antarctic Enclave is critical to them. And I intend to find out what’s so damned dangerous to them that they’re killing people for it. The computers are rigged. They can be bypassed, but only an eyeball check is going to tell the real story. I helped Dad build that installation. I know what makes it tick. And I’m the one they made mad. I’m going.”
Dian cocked her head, peering up at him. Shambling drunks and night workers hurried by them; late partygoers moved in and out of the all-night stores lining the street. Yet they were alone on an island of shared knowledge. “I guess . . . I can’t talk you out of it,” she said. “You’re too damned stubborn.”
“You ought to recognize stubborn from personal experience,” Todd teased.
They strolled along side by side. Todd could almost imagine the wheels turning within Dian’s quick mind. “You have a plan?” she asked. “Or are you just going to walk right into that top-security polar Enclave?”
“No. I’ll have to swap idents with someone who has a clearance. And I better do it soon. The semi-annual Human Rights inspection tour takes off in less than two weeks.” Todd frowned. “I thought maybe one of the maintenance staffers, coming in to relieve someone else at the station . . .”
“Uh-uh,” Dian said firmly. “No good. You think anybody could slip a ringer in on ComLink and not be noticed?”
Todd thought about Gib Owens masquerading in just that way. “Probably not,” he conceded unhappily. “Suggestions? You’ve been up to something. I hear it in the sly way you asked that.”
“Yeah. Might be a way I can get you in, as a member of the tour.”
Todd stopped walking, taking her by the shoulders and staring at her intently. “Who do I pay? Genuine idents? My God. That’d be worth . . . but Mari’s people must have tried that.”
Dian was contemptuous. “Didn’t work. I checked. The Committee members are thoroughly screened.” She took pity on his confusion. “Remember I said I knew people on that Committee? Well, after you and Mari kicked each other on that ride down from Geosynch last month—nagging back and forth about the Enclave—I decided to do some checking myself. Old times. Curiosity. This person I’m thinking of owes me, wants to pay. And he’s the type who can’t be bought. Not for money. But I think he will do it, for loyalty and for what you’re digging at—and he’s on the team that’s heading south in February.”
Todd kissed her, oblivious to their surroundings. “You’re marve
lous. That’s the most important part of getting in there . . .”
“You can’t go looking like you,” Dian told him, smiling.
Todd envisioned Gib Owens’s unsuccessful disguise. But Dian wasn’t referring to a Scandinavian type. Her source would be a United Ghetto States citizen. “Well, rumor has it Ward’s grandmother came from a good family that could trace its line back to slave days,” Todd said, returning her smile. “A bit of hair dye and some darkening of the eyes . . . the genes are right.”
“You’re gonna get that tan you’ve needed, finally.” She linked her arm through his and they started walking again, quickly now, almost in lock step. Dian leaned against Todd’s shoulder, chuckling. “You’ll look terrific.”
“Fairchild. I’ll contact her. I need contacts, and Mari said we can trust her. If we go roundabout, through some of my lesser-known subsidiaries, I think we can get the message to her without tipping our plans. And the accounts the computer wouldn’t give me—got to dig those loose, somehow.”
Dian jerked her chin down emphatically. “That’s my field, breaking codes. I’ve got contacts, too. We’ll take them from all sides, like they’ve been hitting us.”
Todd flung up his arm, hailing a commercial transport approaching the corner station nearby. He hurried Dian forward as the driver opened the doors for them. “Right now, we get to one of ComLink’s airparks and pick up a flier. I made a big public announcement this afternoon. Tomorrow we’re going to be on that shuttle, heading for orbit. And we’ve got an awful lot to do before that ship lifts.”
Tomorrow’s Heritage Page 31
