Dian dropped back into the seat, catching her breath as Todd relayed their destination to the driver. They felt the acceleration when the transport hummed up to full speed. The driver was pushing it, noting Todd’s ident and thinking that pleasing a Saunder with his service would be good for a nice bonus. Dian indicated the chronometer on the control panel. “Today. We’ve already started on a new twenty-four-hours.”
Todd set his jaw, his mind racing, plotting an incredibly busy—and dangerous—Schedule. “Today. And we’ve already used up an hour of it.”
The remaining hours before liftoff were nerve-racking. Before they were through, he and Dian were both running on adrenaline. If they had been able to make direct contact to call in the debts and obligations they needed, things would have been easy. But they couldn’t collect those debts openly. They had to resort to dodges, intermediaries, innocent-sounding inquiries, running, burning the com circuits raw, both of them aware of a deadline in the very real sense of the term.
Neither one got any sleep until they lifted ship that evening. It was a positive relief to be cut off from a telecom or—for a while—any need to watch one’s words and veil one’s meaning in codes. Todd closed his eyes, almost relishing the dynamic pressures of lower launch stages, and free fall sent him off into much-needed dreaming.
It didn’t last, An attendant woke him barely two hours into the flight. Message. Dian roused, peered across from the couch next to Todd’s, apprehension visible in her face. Warily, Todd cued the individual monitor in front of his flight couch. Printout. No voice. That was unusual. The message was even more unusual. Put to anyone save himself and Dian, it would have seemed quite ordinary:
URGENT. TODD SAUNDER. ANOMALY REGISTERING AT COM LINK TRANSLATOR SAT FOURTEEN. NEED IMMEDIATE EXECUTIVE JUDGMENT WHETHER SCRAP OR RESTORE. WILL AWAIT YOUR ORDERS. SIGNED COMLINK MELBOURNE.
Melbourne ComLink division was a sales and entertainment office. It wouldn’t send a message regarding a glitch in one of Todd’s remote satellites.
But Fairchild’s secret network had received a message and sent him an answer:
YES. GO ABOUT YOUR BUSINESS, PER OUR INSTRUCTIONS. WE WILL CONTACT YOU.
Dian’s eyes glowed with relief. Todd faked a yawn, canceling the printout. The attendant glanced at him, and Todd shrugged. “Not really important. Some techs get excited easily.” The man smiled sympathetically. Todd let himself float once more, daring to build his courage. He and Dian had sent out the bills—and the payments were already starting to come in!
They couldn’t head directly for the isolated satellite. There were things that had to be done at Geosynch, and loyal staffers Todd had to take into his confidence. He and Dian agreed on which people were solid. No arguments. There weren’t many of them, but they were absolutely essential. The world had to be convinced that Todd Saunder and Dian Foix were in orbit, busy reconstructing the shattered pieces of Project Search, preparing to renew contact with the alien messenger.
That was going on. So were certain secret hologrammatic recording sessions and coded exchanges with certain people planetside and at other orbiting locations.
Then, all too soon, with too little rest to sustain them, Todd and Dian boarded one of ComLink’s tiny maintenance shuttles and went off on an “inspection” orbit, checking various translator-splitter sections of the network. They reached Relay Fourteen six hours later.
For a while, they thought the wires had been crossed, that they had come to a rendezvous with no one to meet them. And for several bad minutes Todd feared that they had been tricked, that maybe the enemy had penetrated the codes and the message hadn’t been from Fairchild’s people after all.
Then the little station’s short-range com came alive abruptly. “Permission to come aboard, Mr. Saunder?”
No preliminaries at all. Startled, Todd checked the nav screens. They said there was nothing outside for thousands of kilometers in all directions. The voice signal, though, was on docking vector, closing very fast.
“Military,” Todd declared, putting the obvious together. Dian looked wary. “They’re masked against detection,” he said. “We can’t see them. Wouldn’t hear them unless they opened their scramblers. At this range, nobody else will pick up that signal, either. That’s impressive hardware. Must be brass, to have that on his ship. Mari said some of Goddard’s potential allies held very important positions on Earth.” He leaned toward the com. “Come aboard.”
Final approach, docking—all very smooth, and accomplished with an invisible ship. Not until the air lock cycled and a man stepped through the port did the person behind the mysterious voice become real.
“I—I know you,” Dian blurted as the black man removed his helmet.
“So do I,” Todd said. He laughed sheepishly. “General Ames. I thought you were on the other side. When I saw you at the science press conference, I figured you were spying on me, maybe had even ordered up the firebombing and those pilots later on.”
Ames seemed bemused. “That’s good. Keep thinking like that, for public consumption. Supports my image as a hard liner.” He anchored himself amid some empty webbing, as at home in space as he was giving orders at Protectors of Earth Enforcement HQ. This man was big brass, commanding thousands of troops.
“And you’re not a hard liner?” Dian asked suspiciously.
“No. If I were,” Ames said without resentment, “I would have blown you out of space, knowing what I do about your adventure with a scrambler lock and your overhearing those assassins. And the fact that you’ve gotten hold of one Ed Lutz planetside, who happens to be a member of the P.O.E. Human Rights Committee assigned to inspect SE Antarctic Enclave. You need a doctor with the ability to alter ident handprints, hair texture, skin coloring, and eyes. You need top-secret, non-detectable transport back to Earth in order to link up with Lutz and switch places with him before the inspection tour. Have I got it correct?”
Todd sagged in his webbing despite the lack of gravity. “You didn’t get all of that from . . .”
“Fairchild? Not entirely. I have my sources. And incidentally, I made sure the ‘other side,’ as you put it, didn’t get those sources.” Ames had honed all of his original accent out of his voice. Like the assassins, he spoke telecomese, uninflected English. But there was something in the way he had said that last that chilled Todd.
“I . . . I don’t want anyone else to die,” Todd said weakly.
“Who said anyone died?” Todd couldn’t read that black face and was afraid to press Ames on the matter. The man’s tone didn’t change, but there was even more steel under the words. “You’d better trust me, Mr. Saunder. I’d say time was of the essence in this case. You want the doctor? You want the transport Earthside when he’s done his job? Yes or no?”
“I didn’t expect . . .”
For the first time, Ames smiled. It was a charming smile, if you didn’t look at his eyes. “Didn’t expect such fast service? Fairchild’s agents have their own timetable, and it’s crowding me. I can’t spend much time up here, either. I’ve got places planetside I have to be seen. Frankly, Mr. Saunder, I don’t approve of this whole thing. It’s not a civilian’s line of expertise. If it weren’t for Fairchild’s asking me . . . I don’t know why the hell you’re doing this yourself instead of letting one of your subordinates try the infiltration.”
Todd met the dark gaze levelly. “Why are you here, General? You say it’s risky for you to be away from Earth right now. Why didn’t you delegate this mission? If you want a job done right . . . and besides, I’ve got the motivation, more than any of my subordinates will ever have.”
For a tense moment, the men stared at each other. Finally Ames nodded. “Okay. Let’s move. Give me your specs, and I’ll have what you need. There’s a doctor who can do what you want, as long as he gets a sanctuary in space until this current mess settles down. Agreed? We’ll work out something for Dr. Foix’s friend Lutz, too, if necessary. We don’t always succeed, but we try to take care of our people.”
He paused and shot a warning glance at Dian. “But once he leaves for Antarctica, he’s on his own.”
Dian sought to hide her fear. “She knows that,” Todd said with some heat. “I won’t have it any other way. I may not be as much of an amateur as you think I am, General. Or maybe I am, if I’m trusting you.”
Ames sighed and gave up. There would be no more warnings.
“Okay, Mr. Saunder. As of now, we’re in business together—trying to save what’s left of that planet before it disintegrates.”
The next six days were even more hectic than the preceding ones. Ames came through, the doctor he delivered to orbit protested that surgery in free fall had not been part of his training. But after the initial protest, he went ahead brilliantly, so brilliantly Todd wondered where an honest physician would learn such a trade. The mela-tabs that darkened Todd’s reshaped face and altered hand-prints as well as the rest of his skin were a wealthy-class fad to produce quick-tanning and pseudo-Negroid coloration. They were also supposedly employed by criminals and espionage agents who could afford the expensive treatments. Handprint alteration, of course, was illegal in every nation on Earth. The ident system would be useless if the technique became generally available. Dr. Tedesco also had the medications and equipment to kink and dye Todd’s hair, as well as to change the color of his irises to a Negroid brown. When the doctor was finished, the face looking back at Todd from the mirror was virtually unrecognizable. The shock was bearable when he reminded himself that the changes were temporary. Besides, it was all in a very good cause. A life-and-death cause. Life and death for Earth and Homo sapiens . . . and for Todd Saunder.
He owed a lot of people before the six days were done. Ames, Fairchild, and many more whose names he wouldn’t be told, not if they all wanted to survive. But if what he was going to attempt pulled Earth out of its current nightmare, that ought to even the ledgers. Then . . . it was time to go. Time to pay the bills.
He and Dian went planetside on board a fully masked and scrambler-concealed military vessel, landed at a secret port in the Mediterranean, hopping westward by a complex pre-planned route toward the Central North American Union. Had Gib Owens followed this same course, thinking it would hide him? Todd thrust his qualms aside. The decision had been made. Time to carry it out. They entered Dian’s old territory. She became Todd’s guide, leading him through the maze of a mid-continent boom town to a ramshackle train station. They mingled with the crowds and headed north toward the United Ghetto States. The train was a filthy and smelly disaster, the tracks dangerous. The company that owned the line was corrupt. That was one more item on a long list of projects Pat had promised to do something about, once he got the Chairmanship.
Todd stared out at dismal scenery as the train crossed the Illinois plains. The landscape would have been depressing even had it not been winter. The outlands of much of the continent were factory farms or owned by the Old Earth religious factions, and in this season all the area was frozen and barren. No one got off at any of the little way stations en route, and the engineer put on reckless speed to avoid being stopped. A year ago, in a notorious incident, a unit of the Old Earth evangelical army had commandeered a train at one of these villages and executed the passengers and crew as “demons who put a curse on our land.” The only safe way to get through this region without taking to the air was to move as fast as possible and stop for nothing.
Most of the passengers were heading north for the midwinter holiday break. They were construction techs or service workers catering to that industry. A lot of rebuilding was underway along the northeastern shores of Lake New Madrid. Civilization encroaching again, now that the earthquake’s map making was finished. The fact that so many people had sought work at such a distance from their United Ghetto States didn’t say much for the economic picture in those enclaves. But the economic picture wasn’t exactly rosy in the Central North American Union, come to that; it was just a little better than in the U.G.S.
Todd was thoroughly inside his disguise, looking like any other nondescript black man riding the train. Dian’s prettiness was hidden by a straggly wig and makeup. Nobody paid them any attention. At journey’s end, they piled out of the train, moving with the throng, just two more work-weary people coming home. The roof of the big antique train depot had been blown away in the Chaos wars. As a result, the concourse was dotted with little drifts of snow that fell from the cracked ceiling. Todd kicked through a pile of the stuff, thinking that snow must mean the climate was shifting once more. Enough winter precipitation could nourish the spring crops. Maybe U.G.S. and CNAU would have enough food for everyone, for a change, this year.
The old depot was well east of the crater towns where Todd had grown up. Dian showed him the way through Chicago’s confusing streets. Some sections were nothing but rubble left over from the Chaos. Others bloomed with new construction, rivaling any of the showcase areas in the East and along the Gulf Coast. In general, though, employment was far below P.O.E.’s global target of fifty percent, and the condition of the city and its people was evidence of slow growth and poverty. They boarded a motorized skid carrier and rode in the open, enduring wind and pellet snow, until they reached Lutz’s section of town. After leaving the municipal transport, it was a five-block walk. Todd wasn’t sure his feet were still attached to his legs by the time they reached the security fence of Lutz’s apartment building.
This would be the first real test of Dr. Tedesco’s talents. Todd pulled off his glove and pressed his right hand against the ident plate. The whorls and indentations on the skin were no longer his, if the surgery proved out. The system was programmed to recognize only legitimate building occupants. It read the print as Ed Lutz’s, lit up promptly, and opened the gate. Letting out his breath, Todd escorted Dian inside.
They climbed the stairs to the third story and used the key Lutz had smuggled to Dian by a very roundabout courier route. They tried to look as if they belonged in this place as they hurried on in. The moment they did, Ed Lutz closed and locked the door behind them.
Todd looked at the man curiously. He couldn’t say he was exactly seeing himself. He hadn’t been born with brown skin, kinky reddish black hair, or brown eyes. Yet the features were remarkably similar, just as Dian had said they would be. The holo-mode the doctor had worked from hadn’t quite shown the man himself. Now Todd could make real-life comparisons. In many ways, the resemblances were superficial. Yet it was a very good match. Ed Lutz didn’t have any strong facial characteristics. Like Todd Saunder, he was the type other people tended to take for granted, visually.
“Man, you do look like me,” Ed Lutz marveled. His accent wasn’t too heavy. That was another bonus. Todd had ingested hyperendors to enhance his memory, and he had been copying Lutz’s voice patterns off a tape Dian had acquired. It was a relief that he needn’t worry about duplicating a thick United Ghetto States inflection. “Dian claimed we could be related,” Lutz said, “but I thought you’d look more like your brother.”
“I should be so fortunate,” Todd replied with a chuckle. “If I did, maybe this job would be simpler.”
Lutz shook his head. “Uh-uh! Can’t get in without idents. And your brother, rich as he is, can’t buy ‘em.”
“But we can be given them, for old times’ sake, huh?” Dian peeled off her ugly wig. “How are you, Ed?”
“I’m here. And I wouldn’t be, if it wasn’t for your grandma.”
Guilt was eating at Dian, guilt that she was involving an old friend in such danger. “Ed, you know you don’t have to do this. You can still back out even now. They’ve already killed people.”
“Yeah, so you told me.” Lutz was angry. “Firebombs. Crashing planes. Mean stuff. That’s why I want to help. I never came out much, politics style. But that’s damn wrong. Made up my mind for me.” He moved to a dispenser and drew them three cups of caffa liquid. Todd sipped greedily at the hot stimulant.
“You’ll lose your Human Rights Committee credentials for helping us. And wh
oever’s trying to wreck Project Search and Goddard Colony will want to hurt you, too, Ed,” Dian warned.
Across the room, on a muted vid monitor, Fairchild was making a speech. Not her usual campaign speech. She had all but withdrawn from the race and was throwing the full force of her Third Millennium Movement into an effort to counteract the anti-Spacer and anti-alien propaganda. Todd hoped someone besides Ed Lutz was listening to her.
Things were getting worse around the world, and the descent into insanity seemed to be increasing exponentially. ComLink had been lucky. No further incidents since the firebombing and the attempted assassination. No need. Todd had supposedly removed himself from Earth, run away. One enemy they had sent crawling. Now they were going after others—and they were beginning to confuse friend and foe. The fanatics were, in effect, attacking each other, like a family tearing itself apart. While Todd and Dian were dropping down from space, getting back in this arena called a planet, somebody had blown up one of Nakamura’s subsidiaries, a key power station in the Asian energy network. Nakamura was Todd’s competitor, an anti-Spacer. But they had attacked him, anyway. Thousands of people had frozen to death in the North Sino regions and Japan when Nakamura’s station went. Normal logic wouldn’t work against people who could do things like that.
Dian and Ed began reminiscing about the bad old days. “I been tryin’ to repay you for years,” he said. “Told you last summer, huh? Sent you that note. Didn’t really expect to have anything you could use, though. You want to get to the Enclave, you will. Hadn’t been for Wyoma Lee, I’d have died from that bullet wound. She sure saved my life, and a hell of a lot of others. Besides, it’s time for me to move on, I think. I kinda like that offer of yours, Mr. Saunder. ‘Bout a job and a place to hide out until all this gets straightened out.”
Tomorrow’s Heritage Page 32
