In front of the organ was a raised dais, and upon that dais was a piano bench. Seated on that bench was a tall creature in black evening clothes who looked almost human, except that he seemed to have extra arms. These grew out of his sides and chest. This man or thing was seated on the piano bench in front of the gigantic pipe organ.
Spencer closed his eyes and opened them again. He did this several times, almost believing the impossible organ wouldn't be there the next time he looked. Each time it was still there, and seemed to grow larger each time.
The man, the entity, the player, rocked back and forth on his piano bench, playing the organ in a frenzy of movement. He not only played it, he seemed to adapt to it. Spencer could see extra limbs extruding from his body during certain passages.
It was a stunning performance, but, uncannily, it was all done in perfect silence. Spencer could hear no sounds coming from the organ. Without sound, the performance was terrifying rather than stirring.
Beside him, Patsy Klein was moaning softly, hugging herself, and gasping for breath.
Then the organist began to fade. His firm outline turned fuzzy, hazy, and slowly vanished. The organ itself began to fade. Next, the outlines of the vast room started to waver. Spencer blinked repeatedly to clear his vision, but inexorably, the room faded away. Between one blink and the next, the organ, organist, and the vast room that contained them were gone, and Spencer was looking at the dull gray walls of the corridor.
Beside him, Klein's knees buckled, she sagged, and Spencer put an arm around her to support her.
“You saw it?” she whispered.
“Yeah.”
“It's gone now.”
Spencer nodded.
“Where did it go?” There was horror in Patsy's voice. Her voice shook. She seemed on the verge of tears.
Spencer didn't have any of the answers. But he did have something to say.
“Patsy! Get control of yourself!”
She shuddered and looked at him in horror.
Spencer forced himself to take a dry, lecturing voice.
“We have both seen something impossible. Something we have no immediate explanation for. The intention of showing this to us was to elicit fear, awe, apprehension, self-doubt, and all the other emotions we agents have spent so many years combating, inoculating ourselves against. Patsy, you and I have seen many impossible things in our lives. And we've heard of many others. Now let's take this step by step. After all, you and I are in the smoke and mirrors business. It's not for us to react like a gullible audience. You and I have been in some strange places, and we've seen some unusual things.”
She stared at him. Spencer forced himself to continue, his voice low and controlled, trying to convince himself as much as her.
“The affair on Leonardo is an example of the sort of thing we've seen. We didn't experience it ourselves, and so we are not emotionally devastated by it. We're both working on that case. It has been assigned to us. No matter who we work for, the Leonardo incident is our life. Whatever we may believe about it, it is ours to work on, and to work on in a reasonable manner.”
Patsy gave a shudder as she expelled a long-held breath. “All right,” she said.
She was better now. Spencer saw the look of panic fade from her eyes, to be replaced by the sign of intelligence at work.
“Now I'll ask you what you should be asking yourself. Was what we saw any less strange than what happened on Leonardo?”
Patsy shook her head. Spencer noted that her coloring had returned.
He said, “Was it any stranger than what has been happening in the last 24 hours?” He willed her to speak, but she was not ready yet. So he went on. “No, of course not! In this thing we just saw, no one was killed, no remains were left behind. It could have been a projection of some sort. It might have been a shared hallucination. How and why it was created is not presently our concern. What it is supposed to mean to us is not our present business. We just have to know about the possibility.”
“All right,” Patsy said. “I'm OK now. It's just that the first appearance of that thing was so overwhelming. But of course, it was probably meant to be. People are fishing for big stakes in this game!”
“And so are we,” Spencer said. “Now, it's time we got out of here and see what lies ahead.”
Patsy chuckled. “I didn't know you were quite so level-headed, Spence!”
Spencer forced himself to smile. “I'm just lucky I didn't see that thing alone. It was easier to talk you out of it than to try to talk myself out of it.”
“What bothers me now,” Patsy said, “is why we couldn't hear any sound from that organ.”
“I would conjecture that the organ wasn't built to make sounds,” Spencer said. “But that's the least of our problems. Let's get back to present-time. Let's see what MacDougal has in store for us.”
At first glance MacDougal seemed like a pleasant world, terrraformed on an ideal California model. The air, as they left the Lander, was dry and warm, the sun was bright, the temperature was mild. There were a few big cumulus clouds drifting through a light blue sky. In the parklike surroundings, small open vehicles moved on the paved roads. One of these vehicles pulled up to them.
Two men in civilian clothes got out. Both carried briefcases. They checked the newcomers’ identities with a device one of them carried in his briefcase, then welcomed Spencer and Patsy to MacDougal.
“Nice place you've got here,” Patsy said.
“Just like home,” the older of the two men said. “On this continent, anyhow. Not everything is completed yet. Commander, Miss Klein, welcome. If you'll step into the vehicle, we'll take you to your quarters.”
They were put up in adjoining apartments on the ground floor of a small apartment complex. There was clothing for them both in separate closets. It was late in the day. MacDougal's small red sun was already setting. They went for dinner at the nearby restaurant attached to their complex. By the time they were through, they were both ready for bed.
Spencer closed his eyes. He didn't feel sleep coming. But it must have been sleep, because he became aware that he was dreaming. He was in a cellar. Dim bars of sunlight came through slats in the ceiling. He could see that the cellar was flooded. But he already knew that, because he was standing in several feet of water. The water was cold and unpleasant, and it had a bad odor. He thought he could smell smoke in the air, but he knew nothing could burn in a place as wet as this.
Then something in the water tapped him lightly on the leg, and he thought: entanglement is trying to happen.
Spencer could see slender, long, pale skinny things in the water. Eels, perhaps? Or were they snakes? It was difficult to make out in the dim light, through the dirty water. Then one of them nudged his trouser leg. He kicked it away, and almost fell into the water. More of them were coming at him; he felt a nip on his leg, then another. The nips were not painful, but he objected strongly to them. He felt yet another nip.
He shook his leg, trying to dislodge what was biting at him with a soft, toothless mouth. And then someone was shaking his shoulder and he opened his eyes and saw Patsy.
“Ken! Are you all right?”
He managed to say, “Of course! What's wrong?”
“You were calling out! What happened?”
“Dream,” Spencer muttered. “Bloody awful dream. Sorry I woke you.”
“No problem,” Patsy said. “I was awake anyway. Are you all right now?”
“I'm fine,": Spencer said. He sat up in bed, noticing that his feet and legs were dry. Already the details of the dream were fading from his memory. Both the dream and his instant analysis of it were fading. A moment later, both were gone.
Patsy lay down on the bed beside him and pulled the covers over her. “See you in the morning,” she whispered.
Not long after that, he was falling asleep again. He drifted through various dream images, then felt Patsy stir beside him. Her bare foot touched his leg. Spencer made a little sound and rolled toward her. So
on he was wrapped up in her, coiled around her long, delicious body. Something warned him that this was not as it should be. How did Patsy get so long, so soft yet firm? She was much longer, and there was an indescribable softness yet firmness about her flesh that was not at all reminiscent of Patsy. She even smelled different ... And then it slowly dawned on Spencer that this was not Patsy in the bed with him. This was someone else.
Jen! Again he breathed in her indescribable aroma. He knows it was her. The length of her, the feel of her naked body, the dark unmistakable fragrance of her hair ... But what was she doing here? She didn't even like him! He was sure of that. He thought of asking her why she's here. But it was too pleasant just to lie here beside her. And besides, what was there to say?
Then she spoke.
“Ken?”
“Yes.”
“You're awake?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“But before that, you were dreaming.”
“Yes...”
“Tell me your dream, Ken.”
“I don't remember it,” he said, the words coming out automatically, the result of long years of practice in revealing nothing ... or as little as possible. But as he said it, he remembered what he had been dreaming.
“I think you do, Ken.”
“Hey, if I could remember, I'd be glad to tell you. What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I came to exchange something with you.”
“What?”
“A night of pleasure, and information on the plastic plate in your head, in exchange for your dream.”
A night of pleasure. He felt her press against him, felt her arms around his neck. He couldn't think what harm it would do to tell her his dream. Maybe part of her work as a doctor had to do with collecting dreams...
But his work in secret service was telling nothing to no one without specific authorization.
Still, what harm could it do?
He didn't know the answer to that, but he was beginning to suspect it could be a lot. She was offering too much! The habits of years of considering motives, juggling everything from a security angle were strong.
“I'd tell you if I could,” he said. “But I really can't remember.”
He felt her body stiffen. She hadn't expected that! He felt her arms move again. She was lightly caressing his neck and chest. But this, which should have been delightful, seemed to Spencer the worst thing of all. He couldn't get the idea of a succubus out of his mind—one of those beautiful women of ancient legend who sucked the lifeblood out of their helpless victims. He thought of her long, sharp fingernails, now touching him gently on the neck.
A moment later she was gone. He didn't even feel her move, but she was no longer there. Somebody else was lying beside him. Patsy.
“You awake?” he whispered to her.
“Not really,” she moaned, her voice heavy with sleep. “Ken...”
“Yes?” he said after a minute.
“I really need to get some more sleep,” she said. “Then we can...
She rolled toward him in the bed. He felt again her sharp hip in his side.
Soon, from the sound of her breathing, he could tell she was asleep.
A thousand questions tugged at Spencer's mind. A thousand explanations passed in and out of his thoughts. But he had one thought that stuck. It was the notion that tonight, somehow, in some way he didn't understand, he had been given a test. Jen had been a part of it, but he didn't know if she even knew that. She, or whatever that thing in the bed with him had been, was the bait, the reward. Revelation of his dream had been the target. And by not telling her, he figured he had won. But what had he won, from whom had he won it, and what did it have to do with Leonardo?
That left the question of what part Patsy had played. Had she played any part at all? Someday he'd find out. But for now he was aware that he had undergone a test, and had won.
The next morning, Spencer and Patsy went to the communications building. There they were assigned small offices and desks, computers and filers, and given work to do. The work involved assessing risks on a small world called Wolfe-Dexter IV.
Spencer felt strange, doing this work. This was not the sort of thing he was trained to do, though he figured out how to do it easily enough. It took no great smarts for him to realize that he—and Patsy also—had been assigned low-grade intelligence work; enough to keep their minds occupied, but not enough to teach them anything.
Patsy was not in her office at lunch time. Spencer ate alone in the big cafeteria, walked around the grounds for a few minutes afterwards, then returned to his office.
He worked steadily through the long, slow afternoon, doing the sort of thing he thought he was finished with years ago. In late afternoon he noticed that people from other offices were packing up and leaving. He decided to do the same. He had no papers that he wanted to take with him. So he zipped up his briefcase and stood up to leave.
Just then his the door of his office opened and a young woman he didn't know put her head in.
“Someone to see you, Commander Spencer.”
“Show him in,” Spencer said. “Or her.”
The girl disappeared from the doorway. A moment later the door pushed open again and someone stepped in whom Spencer was more than a little surprised to see.
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* * *
Chapter 5: The Egg and the Dragon
by Brian Herbert
A black dwarf stood in the doorway.
Stunned, Spencer half rose out of his chair, and gripped the edge of the desk. “Ramon! What are you doing here?”
A dark-skinned dwarf of Terrafrican origins, Ramon Boganda was a tough, smart agent, a master of espionage techniques who was capable of penetrating the security of any adversary, and of setting up his own formidable defenses to keep the bad guys from getting to him and his fellow agents. The year before, he had supervised the armoring of Service Headquarters, and his efforts had undoubtedly saved the lives of Spencer and Plibix when the plasma bomb went off.
Though in his mid-thirties, Boganda was no taller than Spencer's eldest son Todd, only three years old. The dwarf had been personally responsible for the safety of Carol Spencer and the two boys.
Looking downcast, Boganda said, “I lost them. They were with me one minute and I was talking to little Timmy. Then, right in front of my eyes, all three of them vanished into thin air.”
“Damn!” Spencer swept an arm across the desk, scattering documents and office supplies to the floor. He stood up, kicked the chair over with a loud crash, and came around the desk.
Eyes wide with fear, Boganda took a step backward. “Please believe me. I did everything I could.”
Spencer inhaled a deep breath, tried to calm himself. He paced the office. “You say they vanished. How could that be? Did Plibix have something to do with it?”
“No. I don't think he was anywhere around. He's been having his own troubles, has been acting strangely.”
“He's always strange.”
“More than usual, I mean. Much more than usual. I'll tell you all about it, but first I need some java. You got any around here? I'm feeling wiped out.”
“No idea where my family is? Are they safe?”
“I can't answer any of that, but there's a lot more I can tell you, and maybe we can figure it out together. Show me the nearest java station, OK?”
Spencer nodded. Ramon Boganda's family had owned a large coffee plantation in Terrafrica, and the dwarf had been saturated with coffee from an early age, so that he needed the stuff a lot more than ordinary coffee addicts. His mother probably gave it to him in a baby bottle.
“There's a cafeteria downstairs,” Spencer said. Leaning over his desk, he reached for an intercom button. “Patsy's still in her office, and I want to bring her in on this,” he said.
“Sure. Whatever you say.” One of Boganda's eyelids twitched nervously as he waited.
Spencer spoke over the intercom, and moments later Patsy join
ed them in the corridor. They caught a dropshaft to the ground floor, then made their way across the marble floor of a large, crowded lobby. Spencer had to keep slowing down to wait for the dwarf, whose stubby legs scuttled along, taking twice as many steps as the average person.
Patsy, a thin brunette barely over five feet tall, looked like a giant next to the little man. The two of them engaged in small talk while they walked, but Spencer was not in the mood for such conversation. He was worried about his family, and hoped he had not done anything to place them in danger.
When Kendall Spencer participated in the five-year plan with his co—conspirators, he wanted revenge against Admiral Ktonga and the Space Intelligence Service, payback time for all the years in which top management abused the agents, sending them on increasingly difficult and dangerous missions, not paying them well or protecting them and their families.
From injuries sustained on the job, Spencer had a prosthetic arm and leg, a cloned spleen, a cryoptic eye, and now a plastic plate in his head. For him, the final straw occurred when his first wife Laura was murdered, reportedly by an enemy agent. It all made him consider revenge against the Service, joining his professional peers who were already making plans. Some of the agents had suffered more than Spencer, especially Lindsey Parapara, whose injuries and collateral losses were voluminous. So much of her body had been replaced that she only had 22% of the original parts left, and all of those had been repaired at one time or another.
Under Parapara's clandestine leadership, the maltreated agents soon developed a viable plan of action.. In secret meetings they resolved to bring down the Space Intelligence Service, taking all of its wealth and replacing the agency with an entirely different, more altruistic organization. The new company, which they named SpaceOp, was owned and managed by the agents, the ones who took all the risks and deserved their fair share of the impounded assets of criminals and the proceeds of other investigative operations. Their coup against Ktonga's organization would turn interplanetary espionage on its ear.
The Omega Egg [A Fictionwise Round Robin Novel] Page 4
