Malko and Carl drowsed beneath the sunlamps, on two of the reclining chairs that were arrayed around the pond, and a half dozen of the children were swimming in the pond, when Gerry McKann wandered out to join them. The children were rotating their time in the pond; it was the only swimming place that some two hundred and forty children had access to, and it surprised Carl how easily the children had arranged among themselves for access to it.
Only in the last few weeks had Carl noticed that the children never argued with each other.
Carl was not sure how long Gerry had been there; he was sitting on the chair next to Carl's when Carl opened his eyes to find out why the children in the pond had grown so silent.
He closed his eyes again. "Hi, Gerry."
"Hi. My editors want an interview with you."
Carl sighed and took a sip of GoodBeer by way of reply.
"They would appreciate it if you could do it sometime this week."
"Nope."
"Carl, it's important."
"Nothing is important. I'm on vacation."
Malko lay with his eyes closed. He wore a pair of blue shorts; aside from Gerry he was the only person in the garden who was clothed. "What's wrong, Gerry?"
"The Road and Flight Board did a story on Chandler Industries. It appeared on their Board yesterday morning. There's a holo of the Rochester dealership in the article and Carl and I are visible in the background. One of my editors is about half an angstrom shy of being a Speedfreak, and he saw the picture and recognized me."
Carl slowly sat up in his chair. "Newsdancer ethics. I said you shouldn't have written that story about me." He opened one of the bulbs on the ground next to him and handed it to Gerry. "Here. Knock this back and try to relax. You're disturbing my kids." The six children in the pond had stopped swimming and were floating at the far bank, as far away from Gerry as the pond let them get.
Gerry opened the bulb and sipped at it. "I was sitting right next to you and you didn't even notice."
"I'm half drunk. They're not. Makes a difference."
"I don't know that much about newsdancer ethics," said Malko, "such as they are. I take it your editors are pissed because they saw you'd gone car shopping with Carl?"
"Yeah. I wrote a story about him, Malko. And I didn't make my relationship with Carl explicit in the story, which isn't so bad, except I got caught at it."
"So they're blackmailing you to get an interview with Carl?"
"Something like that. If I don't get it they fire me."
"And if you do?"
"They give me an infochip conceding that they knew about my personal relationship with Carl, and that they agreed to have me interview him anyway. Basically puts me and the two editors who've seen the holo in the same boat. They can't blackball me without admitting to the same infraction."
Carl laughed. "Newsdancer ethics."
Even Malko grinned. "The 'Moses Lied' theory. What God actually said was, Do whatever you want and don't get caught."
Gerry said, "Well?"
Carl glanced over at Malko. "Why not?"
"I think so." He turned to Gerry. "You've probably heard of our PR firm, Lustbader, Capri and Doutrè. They've been after Carl to do something like it for the last month anyhow. And he's been going out of his skull on this stupid vacation."
"I haven't learned how to vacation properly yet," Carl admitted. "But I'm sure enough working at it."
Malko ignored him. "You know 'Sieur Doutrè, I'd imagine?"
"He's good at his job and I'm good at mine. We don't like each other."
Malko nodded. "You talk to him first. Tell him you'd like to interview Carl. Do it this afternoon. Tomorrow morning I'll ask him if anybody's expressed interest in interviewing Carl, because Carl mentioned to me that he's reconsidered being interviewed, by the right person. Doutrè will leap at it."
Carl looked over at Gerry. "Good enough?"
Gerry nodded a little jerkily. "Yeah. Thanks, Carl. I owe you."
Carl sank back to relax again in the warmth. "Damn straight. When do you want to do it?"
"My editors want it to run in the Sunday edition. That gives us a week to interview and edit. I'll be holocam and interviewer both, and I'd like to do it here at the Complex."
"Okay. Wednesday, after lunch." Carl yelled at the waitbot: "Another beer, you lazy fucking hardware!"
Gerry said, "Make that two."
That afternoon the Unification High Court ruled that the United Nations, except "under conditions of grave crisis," had no legitimate authority to force the telepaths to work for them. The Court did not unfortunately define "grave crisis," and it was expected that the government would press a lawsuit to obtain a ruling that did.
Nonetheless it was reported in the press as a victory for the telepaths, and by extension for the de Nostri and other genies.
That evening, while Carl and Jany were preparing for sleep, a holograph of Willi's head and shoulders flickered into existence in front of Carl's bed. He seemed nervous. "Carl? The Secretary General is calling. Carson's with him. I asked if they wanted Malko, but they're asking for you."
Carl sat up in bed, pulling on a robe. "Where is Malko?"
"In bed. I think he's with Doctor Montignet."
"When did she get--never mind. Interrupt them. Tell Malko to listen in." He turned to Jany. "How do I look?"
Jany was wrapping a silk Japanese kimono about herself and pulling her hair out from beneath it. "Like they got you out of bed."
"Great." Carl called the holocam over in front of the bed and said, "Patch them through, Willi."
The wall facing them vanished. Darryl Amnier and Jerril Carson appeared life size, a meter away from the edge of the bed. They wore formal dress, as though they had come from an official function; Carson still wore his cloak. They were calling from the Secretary General's office, with the seal of the Secretary General, twice the height of a man, floating three-dimensionally behind the Secretary General's desk.
"M. Castanaveras, Mme. McConnell, I don't think we've ever been properly introduced." Darryl Amnier smiled briefly. He spoke English with an American accent. "Nonetheless we all know each other. I'd like to congratulate you on today's judgment. You've defended yourselves quite well."
Carl smiled sardonically. "Thank you. I have the impression it wasn't anticipated."
Carson leaned forward to speak, and the Secretary General waved him to silence. "In truth, no. I've great respect for Malko, but it's become clear to me in the last few months that Malko is not necessarily the most formidable of my adversaries." He smiled again, gently. "Councilor Carson has been far too kind to say 'I told you so.' "
"Has he." Carl leaned back against the headboard, stuffing a pillow behind himself to prop him up. "You're far too kind yourself, sir. You'll give me a swelled head."
Amnier chuckled dryly. "I expect there's little danger of that."
Carl laughed. "I'm not sure how to take that."
Amnier shrugged. "As you like." The smile stayed on his lips and left his eyes. "You realize that the current situation is intolerable."
"To whom, sir? I'm sort of enjoying it."
The smile grew thinner. "I'm sure. The courts have been finding in your favor with tedious regularity, and the further we press the subject, the sillier the press makes us look. But M. Castanaveras, you must appreciate that it is dangerous for us to allow the weapon your people represent to remain--shall we say, uncontrolled."
"I find that an interesting choice of words," said Jany quietly, "given that we've spent two years moving an Amendment through the Unification Council that prevents us from being, shall we say, controlled." She folded her hands in her lap and looked into the holocam steadily.
Amnier nodded. "I appreciate this. I'm not suggesting that things must be as they were. I've no problem with your retaining the use of the Chandler Complex. Nor am I unwilling to see you continue to peddle your services in some cases. What is intolerable, and must stop, are the inability of the PKF to obt
ain access to your services, and our lack of knowledge concerning for whom, and in what ways, your skills are being used."
The door to the bedroom slid aside, and Malko appeared in the doorway, with Suzanne behind him. Both were dressed. Neither Carl nor Jany looked in their direction; Malko stayed out of holocam range and shook his head no.
Carl said thoughtfully, "I think you know who we're working for. That's only five companies, five companies that largely don't compete with one another. I doubt we'll sign more clients in the near future; adding to our client list would probably result in a conflict of interest on our parts, between our new clients and some subsidiary of one of our current clients.
"So let's restrain ourselves to those five companies. Can you imagine any of them allowing us to make public--especially to the PKF, with its astonishingly bad track record for keeping secrets--the details of the work we do for them? They'd cancel their contracts first."
"I take your point." Amnier thought for a moment. "Suppose I were to arrange with you so that you were to report to Councilor Carson, and to him alone--or even," he said, at the expression on Carl's face, "to myself. The arrangement need not be made public; your clients need never know of it. Would that satisfy you?"
"In theory. In practice I don't see how it would work. Let's suppose that one of our clients wanted us to negotiate an arrangement with one of the independent Belt CityStates for raw materials. It's not illegal, but your position against trade with the independent CityStates is well known. What would you do with that information once it became known to you?"
"Act on it," said Amnier. "I would have to--but in such a fashion that the source of the information was protected."
Carl shook his head. "No. I'm afraid that translates to the same thing. Our clients are not fools. Early on they'll feed us something traceable only to us. Out of reflex. And when the PKF--or the courts, or the office of the Secretary General--reacts to that information, they'll know and we'll be out of business." He changed the subject abruptly. "Assuming that we were to accept jobs from the Peaceforcers--jobs that would not conflict with the interests of our current clients--we'd want to be paid for the work, at our current rates."
Carson's tight control broke. "Why, you obnox--"
Amnier's voice cut like fineline. "Quiet." Carson's mouth snapped shut and he glared into the holocam. "Your current rates are acceptable. They're hardly minimal, but you're costing us more than that in the courts. I must however return to the subject of your clients. I'll be specific if you like. Belinda Singer and Francis Xavier Chandler are not friends of my administration."
"That's true of most Americans," said Carl flatly.
Amnier looked down at his desktop for a moment. He looked up again and spoke tonelessly. "Yes. That's unfortunate. Largely Malko's doing, too. Be that as it may, you must either report to us on your activities for those parties--for the others as well but particularly for those two--or cease working for them."
Before Amnier had finished the sentence, Malko was vigorously mouthing a word at Carl. His thoughts struck Carl without Carl even trying to read him. Stall, stall, don't say--
Carl shook his head, a small movement. "I'm sorry. I can't do that."
Malko looked away in disgust.
Amnier sat silently, letting Carl's last words hang in the air.
Even knowing what Amnier was doing, Carl was surprised at how effective it was. Almost immediately he felt the desire to expand on the words, to retract them, to say something.
He kept his mouth shut and returned Amnier's gaze.
Finally, Amnier broke the silence. "Not bad," he said irrelevantly. "Do you know--I am aware it is impossible, but you remind me--in manner, not in looks, but in manner--of the man for whom you are named."
"Oh?" Carl forced himself not to look at Malko. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Amnier sighed. "Of course. M. Castanaveras, a moment's instruction. In any negotiation with a man in my position, there exist both incentives and disincentives. In plain language, both the carrot and--"
"Don't you threaten me."
Amnier looked straight into the holocam. It seemed to Carl as though Amnier's eyes met his own. When Amnier spoke, the tone of his voice was almost apologetic. "And the stick, sir."
"You," said Carl, trembling with instant white rage, "go fuck yourself. Command, comm off."
Amnier was nodding, apparently without surprise, and Jerril Carson was smiling, when their images vanished.
Where Carson's image had been, the painting of Shana de Nostri looked at Carl through half-lidded eyes.
They moved swiftly. Carl's bedroom became a temporary Ready Room until something better could be arranged. Bodyguards for those telepaths out of the Complex were doubled within an hour of Carl's confrontation with Amnier. The perimeter guard was strengthened the morning following, and just in time; the crowds outside the Complex swelled that Tuesday to twice their usual size, and to three times on the day after that. Their chanting grew so loud that it could be heard at any point in the Complex's above ground floors. Bodyguards left with Suzanne Montignet when she drove out Tuesday morning to go home. Jany decided that the children would no longer be allowed to play in the yards around the Complex, and Carl seconded the opinion; the yards were too vulnerable to sniper fire. The children were restricted to the garden and the park. A flood of hate mail and threatening calls came out of nowhere. Peaceforcers assumed a patrol, but did not interfere with the crowds. Malko muttered that he wondered whether the Peaceforcers were there to protect the telepaths or the government employees in the crowd.
Security Services had to stun members of the crowd on Wednesday, when Gerold McKann came to interview Carl, before the crowd let Gerry's car through.
They had to do it again, near midnight, when Gerry left to go home. Working at Carl's InfoNet terminal, Malko and Carl sorted through recordings made of the two stunnings. They came up with eleven faces who were present and made no attempts to get out of the way of the sonic stunguns. "Government agents," said Malko with a certain grim pleasure, "probably PKF. Getting themselves stunned for the press, so there will be pictures of lots of bodies lying immobile in front of the Complex. I hope they're getting paid well." He punched in the code for the front gate and got the Security Services guard in command of the detachment on duty. "Captain, I'm going to send eleven holos to you. I'd like you to do an eyeball of the crowd, and if any of those eleven are present, stun them again. Whenever one of those eleven shows up or wakes, stun the bastard."
There was only a moment's pause. "Yes, sir."
Malko turned to Carl. "Can we get holographs of the Peaceforcers currently stationed in New York? If we can, we can cross-reference with the faces in the crowds outside."
Carl grinned. "I can't. But I'll bet you a bottle of smoke that Trent can."
The thought disturbed Malko. "Okay. Let him try, but only if he's sure he won't get caught. Failing wouldn't be a problem; being traced back to Suzanne's house would be. That's data cracking and theft and half a dozen other crimes as well."
Carl patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry."
"Why the hell not?"
Carl grinned again. "They won't catch him."
Carl awoke in darkness, late Thursday. Jany was shaking him awake.
The window was still dark. "What time is it?"
"3 a.m.," Jany said. "We have an emergency, I think."
"What?"
She spoke silently; it was far faster. Gerry called for you about twenty minutes ago. He was afraid, of what I don't know. He didn't get past the screening program before something out of holocam range made him hang up. Mandy was on duty, and when the screening program brought through its recording of Gerry's call, she called me. I tried to reach him myself, but I couldn't feel anything. He's either unconscious or dead.
Where's Malko?
Dressing.
He's not coming. Have Andy meet me at the car. Make sure he's armed, autoshot and hand laser.
What about me? Or Johann?
You're not coming either. Carl was out of bed, pulling on pants and boots. He grabbed his shirt and coat and ran out the door without donning them.
A crowd awaited him at the garage: Malko and Johann and Andy, Willi and Heather and Ary. The argument that followed was telepathically brief.
The hell you say I'm not coming, said Johnny. Who's going to stop me?
Andy, said Carl, what are you carrying?
Autoshot and hand laser, per request.
Good. Johnny stood indecisively in front of Carl; Carl brushed by Johnny without answering him. Malko stood in front of Carl, blocking the driver's seat. "Carl, what is this nonsense about my not coming?" He grinned. "If there's going to be a firefight, I'm going to be in it."
"No," said Carl flatly. "Get out of my way."
Malko shook his head. Carl took another step in his direction, and suddenly he found himself slammed up against the MetalSmith's canopy, both of his arms twisted behind his back. Malko's breath was warm, just over his right ear. "No mind tricks, Carl. Nobody we run into is going to be able to do what you can, and on every other level I'm just as good as you are." He twisted Carl's right arm sharply. "Or better."
Carl did not answer him. His eyes shut and he reached out with the Gift. Malko froze motionless for an instant, and in that instant Carl hit him in the stomach, caught and lowered Malko to the ground. "I'm sorry," he said again, so quietly no one but Malko could hear it. "We can't lose both of us."
He rose and touched the spot on the hull that cracked the MetalSmith's canopy open. He spoke without looking up, as he lowered himself into the driver's seat. Andy, come on. Nobody follows us. You make that mistake and I'll kick your ass. The canopy sealed itself over them as Andy scrambled inside. We'll be back. The doors to the garage slid swiftly, silently aside.
Carl snapped the wings the instant they were clear of the doorway, and the MetalSmith was airborne before they were halfway to the gate.
Near 4 a.m. the MetalSmith turned onto the street in uptown Manhattan where Gerold McKann lived. Carl pulled the car over to the curb, well down the block, and killed the headlights. Five New York City police cars were clustered in the street before Gerry's apartment, bubble holos glowing blue and red. A sixth car, parked neatly at the side of the street slightly away from the other five, bore the black on silver insignia of the United Nations Peace Keeping Force.
Emerald Eyes Page 13
