Masters of the Galaxy

by Mike Resnick (ed)

  “When someone tried to kill Andy on Brookmandor II, we decided that he couldn’t continue to travel without a disguise, and I imposed upon an old friendship with a fellow Gromite to get us jobs here. Andy never takes off his clown make-up, not in public, not backstage. We felt that we would attract no undue attention if we went to Port Samarkand as performers.”

  I sighed deeply. One of the problems with novices in any line of work is that the ideas they think are new and unique are usually old enough to have long white whiskers.

  “So where do you stand, Mr. Masters?” asked Andy. “Are you going to stop us?”

  “Jake,” I corrected him. “And I’m thinking about it.”

  “Think fast. We’re running out of time.”

  “I’ll make you a deal,” I said at last.

  “What kind of deal?” asked Andy suspiciously.

  “I’ll go with you to Port Samarkand,” I said. “If this whole thing is a false alarm and you don’t know anything that would make your mother want to kill you, you agree to come back to Odysseus with me. I don’t give a damn if you just walk in the door, say ‘Hi, Mom,’ and walk right back out. I’m being paid to take you back, not to make sure that you stay.”

  “And if I do know something?”

  “We’ll play it by ear,” I said. “No promises. That’s my deal. Take it, or we go back to Odysseus on the next ship bound for Iliad system.”

  Andy looked at Crunchtime, as if expecting the Gromite to say something, but the alien kept his mouth shut, and finally the kid nodded his agreement.

  “Okay, Jake, you’ve got a deal. Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

  The three of us took an express aircar to the spaceport. Crunchtime had boarding codes for both of them, so they boarded immediately. I had to buy my passage, but the flight was half empty and since we were late, they let me board and pay the robot host once we’d taken off.

  Crunchtime had to sit in the alien section, so Andy and I sat together toward the front of the ship. The kid was still in his clown make-up, which attracted some stares. One guy wasn’t laughing, just staring, and I thought I’d seen him before.

  I nudged Andy with an elbow.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Don’t make a production of it, but take a look at the guy across the aisle, maybe three rows back. He’s wearing a brown tunic, and he’s got a scar on his chin. Tell me if you recognize him.”

  “Yes,” he said a moment later. “He was at the carnival every night.”

  “Is he the guy who tried to kill you on Brookmandor II?”

  “I don’t know. It was dark, and he was too far away.”

  “But he was definitely hanging around the carny?”

  “Yes.” He looked nervous. “What do we do about him?”

  “Nothing—yet.”

  “Are you going to wait until he shoots me?” demanded Andy.

  “He has every right to be on the ship,” I said. “At least now I know what he looks like, so I can spot him on Port Samarkand.”

  “What if he shoots me right at the spaceport? I mean, you’re carrying a gun, so why shouldn’t he have one too?”

  “My gun is sealed,” I explained. “And it’ll stay that way until they automatically deactivate the seal as we leave the Port Samarkand spaceport. That’s the rules, kid. The only thing I can use it for is a club. If he’s got one, it’s in the same condition. Besides, no one’s going to try to kill you at a spaceport. They’ve got more security there than anywhere else on the planet.”

  “I hope you’re right,” he said dubiously.

  “I am,” I said. And added silently: I hope.

  We braked to sub-light speeds four hours into the voyage, and touched down on Port Samarkand a few minutes later. Before we left the ship we got the usual information about atmospheric content, climate, gravity, time zones, the whole deal. Humans sit at the front and exit first, and once we got off we waited at Customs for Crunchtime to catch up with us.

  “Maybe I’d better go wash this make-up off before I pass through Customs,” suggested Andy.

  “Why bother?” I asked. “Your passport says you’re an entertainer. Nobody will stop you. If the clerk asks, just say you’re late for a performance.”

  “It’ll never work,” he said, but of course it did. Nobody questioned him, and we passed through Customs without any problems.

  We stopped at an information computer to find out where Duristan’s carnival was playing, but even before I posed the question I saw the guy in the brown tunic head off for the men’s room.

  “You take care of this,” I said to Andy. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  The guy was standing in front of a sink when I got there.

  “Warm,” he muttered, and warm water poured out. “Soap.” When he was done he said “Dry,” and a burst of warm air blew across his hands. He saw me in the mirror, but didn’t even bother to turn and face me while he was drying his hands.

  “I figured we’d talk sooner or later, Mr. Masters,” he said.

  “How do you know my name?”

  “My employer told me you’d be traveling with the kid.”

  “So she’s paying you to kill him while I take the fall?” I said.

  “Be a little more discreet, Mr. Masters,” he said easily. “There are security monitors everywhere.” Suddenly he smiled. “And I work for him, not her.”

  “Him?” I repeated.

  “The father,” he said, making sure he didn’t mention Ben Jeffries’ name aloud. “I’m here to make sure nothing happens to his son.”

  “Then that wasn’t you on Brookmandor?”

  “Not the way you think.”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “I was on Brookmandor, but I didn’t try to kill him. The only reason he made it to Aristides is because I”—he remembered the camera—”hindered the man who was after him.”

  My guess was that he hindered him right into the morgue.

  “So the kid’s father is paying you to be his guardian angel,” I said. “He offered the same job to me.” I frowned. “Why? He doesn’t even like him.”

  “There’s an outstanding warrant for my employer on Odysseus,” said the man.

  “Yeah, I know. For murder.”

  “That’s right.” He paused. “He’s committed a lot of crimes, including his share of murders—but that wasn’t one of them. He wants to go back to Odysseus, but he can’t set foot on the planet while that warrant’s in effect. If this Rabolian can unlock information that the mother did it, they’ll drop the warrant.”

  “What’s on Odysseus that’s so important?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care. Maybe it’s loot he hid there twenty years ago, maybe it’s something else. My job is just to make sure no harm comes to the kid until he reaches this Rabolian telepath.” He paused again. “I’m glad we’re on the same side. I wasn’t sure when you showed up. I was afraid you were going to take him back, and then I’d have had to kill you.” He didn’t choose his words for the security monitors this time; they don’t arrest you for what you might have done under other circumstances.

  He could have sounded aggressive or arrogant, but he said it so matter-of-factly that I realized killing me would have been nothing personal. It was just business to him. He didn’t care whether I lived or died, he didn’t care what reason Jeffries had for wanting to return to Odysseus, he probably didn’t care what was buried in Andy’s memory. He just did his job and never got involved. Hard to like a guy like that, but equally hard to hate him. He was just another fact of Nature, like a refreshing breeze that might or might not turn into a hurricane. You may get out of its way, but there’s no sense getting mad at it.

  “Okay, we’re allies, at least for the time being,” I said. “You got a name?”

  “Lots of ‘em.”

  “None of which you want to share?”

  “What purpose would it serve?”

  And that way no one could beat it out of m
e.

  “I’ve got to call you something. How’s Boris?”

  “As good as any other.”

  We had nothing further to say, so Boris went back into the main lobby of the spaceport. I waited another couple of minutes, then followed him. I didn’t want anyone to see us together. I couldn’t hide the fact that I was traveling with Andy, but if anyone was watching us, I didn’t want them to know Boris was part of the team.

  “We found Duristan,” said Andy as I walked up to him and Crunch-time. “He’s about ten minutes from here.” He sneaked a look at Boris. “Did you find out who he is?”

  “Don’t worry about him,” I said. “He’s on our side.”

  “What!” It was more an exclamation than a question.

  “He works for your father,” I answered. “He’s the guy who saved your ass back on Brookmandor.”

  I thought the kid was going to walk over and thank him, so I grabbed his arm. “Just ignore him,” I said. “He’ll be a lot more effective if it doesn’t look like we all know each other.”

  The three of us walked to an aircar and told it to take us to the carnival where Duristan was working. As we glided a foot or two above the ground, I turned to Andy.

  “I’m going to get out maybe 400 yards from the carny and walk the rest of the way,” I told him.

  “Why?”

  “You’re supposed to be a clown and a juggler, remember? What am I—your agent?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted. “We’ll apply for the jobs, and then—”

  “Why bother?” I said. “You’ve seen how fast acts come and go at these shows. Just walk around like you belong. If anyone stops you, then play dumb and say you’re looking for work.”

  “That makes sense,” he agreed.

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll find out where Duristan hangs out when he’s not performing, get a message to you, and we’ll meet there.”

  “Okay,” he said as the carnival came into view and I ordered the aircar to stop.

  “Remember,” I said as I climbed out. “If you see Boris—that’s your father’s man—don’t stare at him or try to talk to him.”

  Then I was on the street and the aircar shot ahead. I walked up to the ticket booth, paid for my admission with cash in case my name had shown up on any computers, and entered the show.

  Duristan didn’t figure to be in the main arena—everyone knew that Rabolians were telepaths, and most people didn’t want Duristan or any other Rabolian having a little fun at their expense by revealing some of their more embarrassing secrets to the audience. He figured to set up shop as a fortune teller or something similar, so I went to the rows of games and exhibits, looking for him.

  He was there all right, sitting all alone in a glittering turban and a satin robe covered with the symbols of the zodiac. That outfit would have looked mildly silly on a human; it looked positively ludicrous on a tripodal Rabolian who was as wide as he was tall.

  There was no sign of Andy and Crunchtime, so I went to the next booth, picked up a toy pulse gun, and began shooting at images of alien predators that seemed to be leaping through the air at me. I hit the first two. When I missed the third the creature smiled and informed me in exquisite Terran that I was lunch, and once he digested me—it would take about three seconds—I could play again for another twenty credits. I decided not to.

  I killed a little more time walking up and down the rows of games—they looked exactly like the games I’d seen on Aristides and in every other carnival I’d ever been to—and then headed back toward Duristan’s booth. I saw Andy and Crunchtime approaching it, and then I head Boris yell “Duck!”

  The flare from a pulse gun nailed Andy in the right shoulder and spun him around. Boris jumped into sight, screecher in hand, and fired a blast of solid sound at the man with the pulse gun. He dropped like a rock, but then Boris fell backward, a black smoking hole in his belly. I spotted the guy who’d done it and downed him with my laser pistol. Then I raced up to Andy, who had dropped to one knee.

  “Are you okay, kid?” I asked.

  He nodded, and I went over to Boris. One look and I knew he wasn’t going to make it to the hospital.

  “Did I get him?” he whispered as I kneeled down beside him.

  “You got one of them. I got another. How many were there?”

  “Only two, I hope,” he said with a weak grin. “I never saw the second one.”

  “I’ll tell Jeffries what happened. If you have any family, does he know how to contact them?”

  “No family,” Boris grated. His hand reached up and clawed my shoulder. “You’re his guardian angel now,” he said, and died.

  I walked back to Andy and helped him to his feet. “Can you stand on your own?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer. At first I thought he was too weak, or had lost too much blood. Then I saw him staring at something, and I followed his gaze.

  Duristan had fallen out of his booth and lay sprawled on the ground, dead. A wild shot from the pulse gun had taken the top of his head off.

  “Shit!” I muttered. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

  But the local security team had shown up by then, and held us until we could be turned over to the police. The police surgeon treated Andy’s wound and gave him something for the pain.

  They kept us most of the night, but the few people who’d been on the scene verified our stories and they finally let us go about six hours later. They’d probably have kept me until the inquest, but there were so many warrants out for the two dead men that they figured I’d done them a favor.

  “What now?” asked Andy as we walked out of the station. “Are you taking me back?”

  “Eventually,” I replied. “Let me get to a subspace radio first.”

  We found one in a local hotel, and I contacted Jeffries back on Corvus II. I told him what had happened and that Boris was dead, then waited about three minutes for him to receive the message and for his reply to get back to me.

  “Where are you going next?” he asked.

  “I’m being paid to return him to Odysseus, and that’s what I plan to do,” I said. “But if you’ll pay our passage, we’ll stop at Rabol on the way.” I’d have paid it if he said no, but I didn’t see any reason to tell him that.

  “It’s a deal. By the time you get to the spaceport the tickets will be waiting for you.”

  “There are three of us,” I said. “Don’t forget the Gromite.”

  “Right.”

  He broke the connection, I told Andy and Crunchtime what he’d said, and we had the hotel summon an aircar.

  The spaceport wasn’t crowded, but every face looked like a potential assassin. I went to the men’s room with Andy while he removed his make-up—there was no sense pretending to be a clown any longer—and then we went to the waiting area. Crunchtime was already sitting in the aliens’ section when we got there.

  A pretty young redhead in a spaceport uniform walked up to the passengers, asking each if they wanted anything to drink while they waited to board the ship. Andy asked for a local fruit drink, and I requested a cup of coffee. She returned a few minutes later, passing out drinks and pocketing payments and tips. Finally she approached Andy and me.

  “Your drinks,” she announced, handing us each what we had ordered.

  “Thank you,” I said. I grabbed her wrist as she turned to go. “Andy, don’t touch it.”

  I could see puzzlement in his eyes and fear in hers.

  “Whatever they paid you for this, it wasn’t enough,” I told her. “Who hired you?”

  “Please!” she said. “You’re hurting me!”

  “I’ll do a lot more than hurt you if I don’t get an answer.”

  “Security will be here any second!”

  “Then Andy will give them his drink, they’ll analyze it, and you’ll be about 75 years old before you see the outside of a prison again,” I said. “Now, who are you working for?”

  “I don’t know! It was a man I’d
never seen before! He said it was a joke—that it would get the young man drunk and acting silly! I swear it!”

  “What was his name?”

  “I don’t know! I never saw him before! He gave me fifty credits. It was a joke!”

  The speaker system announced that our ship was ready for boarding.

  “I’m going to let you go,” I said. “Just walk away like nothing’s happened. We’re taking the drink onboard with us. You say a word to anyone, we give the drink to the police and tell them where we got it. Do you understand me?”

  She nodded her head and I let her go. She walked away as fast as she could without breaking into a run, and was soon out of sight.

  “How did you know?” whispered Andy, his eyes wide.

  “She collected money from every other customer before she gave them their drinks, but she was so anxious for you to down yours that she never asked us to pay her.”

  “That’s an awfully little thing to go on,” he said.

  “Wait for big things in this business and you don’t live too long.” I stood up. “Let’s get on the ship.”

  I took the drink from him as he stood up. We passed a row of potted plants on the way to the hatch, and I dumped the contents into the last of them.

  “That was our evidence!” he said.

  “Do you want to go to Rabol, or do you want to stick around and press charges?” I asked. “Besides, they won’t let you take an opened drink onto a ship. The jump to light speeds does strange things to it, even in a pressurized cabin. If she really worked here, she’d have known I was bluffing.”

  As we took our seats, he still looked disturbed. “Maybe we should have stuck around long enough to see her put in jail.”

  “She’s just a dupe,” I said. “And don’t forget—there’s still someone on Aristides who wants you dead.”

  “Maybe she lied,” he persisted. “Maybe she knew it was poison. Maybe she poisoned it herself.”

  “I doubt it, but even if you’re right we’ve seen the last of her. She knows we can identify her.”

  “But—”

  “Look, kid,” I said firmly, “I’m not a cop anymore. I’m being paid to get you home in one piece, not to put all the bad guys in jail.”