Miranda's Demons

by Ian Miller

  "I'm afraid you don't know your rights," Natasha smiled coldly. "I have sufficient evidence to connect you with espionage and while we are at war, you have no rights. I have the power to convene a military tribunal and execute you within the day."

  "But that's . . ." Beth started, then stopped as she found the whole thought too much.

  "You needn't worry," Natasha smiled to her. "I'm not going to. But equally I'm not going to be diverted from the war through the need to deal with a batch of corporate lawyers. You will both be kept out of harm's way; you can choose relative luxury or you can choose a prison, but you will have no further communication with the rest of the world until the war is over. You may leave, Miss Munro."

  "What about my secretary?" Jennifer Munro demanded.

  "I have a few more questions for her," Natasha said coldly. "Now, either go, or face that tribunal."

  Jennifer almost looked as if she was going to challenge the decision, then she thought better of it and left. Beth Hanson stared at the Commissioner like a rabbit caught in headlights and paralyzed with fright.

  "Miss Hanson," Natasha said as calmly as she could. "Please don't be frightened."

  "I can't help it," she said. "I'm not a traitor, I'm –"

  "I know," Natasha said calmly, "but you do know something, don't you. You tried to get this information to me once before, in New York, didn't you?"

  "You knew about that?" Beth gasped.

  "I knew what you'd done, and we had a rather poor photo of you from the security system, but we didn't seem to be able to put a name to the face. You didn't try again?"

  "I was too scared," Beth admitted. "Mr Munro's got spies everywhere, even here."

  "Well, there's no need to be scared now," Natasha said calmly. "What happens next is up to you, but you needn't fear Harvey Munro. Now, tell me what you wanted to tell me then."

  Beth was still frightened, but she began, tentatively at first, to tell how she overheard the conversation between Munro and Reiner, then the story began to gush out. "You've got to believe me. It's true!" she finished, and implored to be believed.

  "That explains quite a bit," Gaius nodded.

  "Commissioner," Beth asked, "may I ask a question?"

  "Of course."

  "This tape. I swear I've never seen it. I've looked through my luggage, but –"

  "I know," Natasha smiled reassuringly at her. "I'm quite convinced you have nothing to do with this. You were just a courier."

  "But if everyone had so much trouble finding it," Beth countered, "why are you so sure I had it?"

  "We took it from your case before you retrieved it," Natasha smiled. "Perhaps we were supposed to, but if so, it must have been a puzzle when nothing happened to you. The puzzle would have been worse when they couldn't find it where it was supposed to be. That's why we think you were sent to Heathrow."

  "So what will happen to me?"

  "That depends," Natasha said. "If you wish, we'll send you somewhere by yourself, but if you want to be helpful, we could use you."

  "Wh what do you mean, use me?"

  "I want you to go with Jennifer and see what happens. You don't have to, but we'd appreciate your help."

  "You want me to spy," Beth said morosely, "but it won't do any good. It's not Miss Munro. It's Harvey Munro."

  "Then if you're right you'll be able to help her too," Natasha said.

  "And if I'm wrong, I'll be in real trouble right away," Beth said even more morosely.

  "When you leave," Gaius advised, "tell Jennifer that you were questioned hard about the tape, but you steadily denied all knowledge of it, and eventually you were let go. Don't say anything else about here, and don't mention anything about what you know about Harvey. Go with Jennifer, and if everything gets too much, call your local military and give them your social security number, and tell them to call Tashkent for information on what will happen to them if they don't look after you. I shall also arrange for someone to keep you safe."

  "I don't know that that'll –"

  "If anyone in the military doesn't jump to your request, just let them know that I said that if anything happens to you as a consequence of their stupidity," Gaius smiled harshly, "I promise them a view of the wrong side of Roman military discipline."

  "Assuming I don't get to them first," Natasha nodded. "Try not to be frightened, but remember, if you are frightened, let Jennifer know it's us you're frightened of. In the meantime, we'll send you somewhere reasonably pleasant, if a little out of the way, so try to enjoy yourself."

  * * *

  "That was not exactly conclusive," Natasha said later. "Miss Munro was shaken, but to be arrested for a capital offence would shake most people."

  "She's guilty," Elizabeth Garrett said caustically. "You asked all the right questions and you didn't get very convincing answers."

  "I'm fairly confident she knew about that tape," Natasha shrugged, "and was supposed to get it from Hanson's luggage. I'm not so sure she had organized to get Pennlington killed, though. I've seen the two of them together, and they seem so fond of each other."

  Elizabeth Garrett stared at Natasha. Reiner's words rang through her mind. She was about to protest, then she thought better of it. If Kotchetkova wanted to make a sentimental fool of herself, let her. In any case, now that Kotchetkova knew of Reiner's involvement, such as it was, this was not the time to bring that up.

  The good news from Max Reiner's point of view, Elizabeth noted wryly, was that Beth Hanson's evidence had Reiner attending a meeting at Munro's invitation, it had Reiner agreeing to let Martian agents help with minerals exploration, and it later had Reiner having a big disagreement with Munro. The evidence was a source of embarrassment, but Hanson had provided no evidence of actual involvement on the part of Reiner with the enemy. Reiner was not the person to be stupid, so there probably was no such evidence that would lead to a conviction, as opposed to say, an early retirement. Most importantly, in none of Beth Hanson's evidence had there been any mention of the M'starn, except for the MinCorp men making their identities known, which would have been inevitable anyway.

  * * *

  Jennifer chose luxury. Not that the place she was taken too was particularly luxurious. It was a villa near Gulshad, overlooking Lake Balkhash. Its main virtue was that it was difficult to get to, and that any stranger within fifty miles would be noticed and reported. It was a centre of fiercely independent land-holders; once they finally recovered the land following the break-up of the communes, the following acquisitions by the so-called entrepreneurs then the sell-out to absentee landlords, they were determined they would never lose it again. The people ran their own industries, paradoxically reverting to cooperatives, but run through the people, and not through the bureaucracy. There had been a number of efforts by the corporations to get footholds in this and much of the great Central Asian plains and mountains, and some cruel tactics had been used, so much so that the area was now a total no-go area for the corporation men. This would be the last possible place on Earth for Harvey Munro to recruit agents.

  The air was so hostile to the corporations that at first Jennifer feared for her life, and she stayed securely within the villa. After a week, however, Beth became more adventurous, particularly when a Kazakh Defence officer, a colonel Aqmet Abdullin, invited her out on an excursion. They wandered along the lakeside and mingled with the people, some of whom still wore traditional dress. Although the lake had been "restored", and was kept in a very orderly way, to Beth, who had never left New York, apart from two excursions to London, this was truly a wilderness. They wandered through a museum, which showed the strange photographs of what the lake was like originally, the effects of pollution, then the heroes of the great restoration. A detailed description, in Kazakh, of how the restoration was carried out was given, but this was lost on Beth.

  They left the museum and wandered down through a small street into a square. There, on one corner, was a small cart with a barrel; the traditional seller of the strange trad
itional brown liquid. When the officer suggested a drink, Beth looked a little dubiously at it.

  "At least they don't persist with the tradition of the community cup," the officer grinned, and he offered a drink in a plastic cup. Beth sipped cautiously at the drink, while a conversation sprang up between the seller and the officer. Then the man looked at Beth, and became more agitated.

  "What's going on?" Beth asked.

  "Oh," the officer replied. "He asked me who you were, so I told him you're here because you're in fear of your life from the corporations."

  "And what did he say to that?"

  "Oh, he just gave a brief description of what would happen if anyone from a corporation tried to get at you. It's not very polite, but in essence such an agent would feel the blade of one of those long curved traditional knives you may have seen. About the last way they'd use it would be to slit his throat."

  "And would they?"

  "Believe it! And when the word gets around, get ready for an improved social life. You'll be an honoured guest at every party that's going. And don't worry about your safety. These people cannot be bought, because anyone who sold out would be living carrion, staked out in the wastelands, possibly taking days to die."

  "But, surely that sort of thing died out centuries ago?"

  "There's always someone wanting to revive the past," the colonel smiled, "and what better way of dealing with traitors than that of the Golden Horde?"

  The officer was correct. Very soon, Beth and Jennifer received invitations to a wide variety of events. They were celebrities, known to everybody within three hundred kilometers, and to nobody beyond that.

  * * *

  Lorenz Kleppe was highly agitated when he met Elizabeth. "What do we do now?" he asked. "Natasha's got it all wrong!"

  "Can you prove it?" Elizabeth asked calmly.

  "Well, no, but I know . . ."

  "Exactly," Elizabeth said. "The answer's clear. Do nothing. After all, it's not an entire disaster. We're one million up, and the basic instability is still there. We can still induce Harvey Munro to take out that Roman, and we can still induce Natasha to take out the corporations. As the war heats up there'll be plenty of confusion, so let's bide our time until another opening comes along."

  "And what about Halas?"

  "I think he's a problem, but I also think Munro will see him as a bigger one. With any luck, Harvey'll take care of him for us."

  "And what say Halas squeals?"

  "I don't think he will," Elizabeth said slowly, "but maybe we'd better invest some time on Imre."

  * * *

  Imre Halas thought he had it all worked out. He had met Harvey Munro in a fashionable restaurant, where they had acquired a private booth.

  "Mr Munro," Halas started politely, but confidently. "We have a problem. It seems Natasha's jumped to the wrong conclusion."

  "Is that so?"

  "I would think so," Halas replied, with a touch of both surprise and concern entering his voice. "You can't keep your side of the deal if Jennifer's in jail."

  "Isn't that just tough on you," came the dry reply.

  "But . . ?" came a perplexed Halas.

  "Well, I'll say this for you," Harvey grunted. "You've at least got the good sense not to start threatening me. Now, let me tell you something. I'm not going to move a finger to get Jennifer out of there, and do you know why?" Then, without waiting for an answer, he went on, "I'll tell you why. It wouldn't make any sense, after having gone to all that trouble putting her in there, would it?"

  "You? You put her in there? For treason?" Halas asked in amazement.

  "Sure," Harvey grunted. "I had a problem, and I solved it. Now, the real question in my mind is this. Are you going to be a problem?"

  Halas stared at Harvey. A chill ran down his back, and his stomach turned to jelly. He was about to try a bluff about someone knowing about the meeting, but an inner sense told him not to. Instead, he fiddled with his fork, swallowed, and then said nervously, "Mr Munro, it was never my intention to be a problem. I told you before, I wanted to be useful."

  "You wanted a good sight more than that," Munro snarled.

  "Yes, I did," Halas replied, "but I never ever said I wanted to be a problem."

  "Then prove it, sonny boy. You've got a month to prove to me you can be useful. Forget about marrying a Munro; concentrate on staying alive. While you're at it, you can pick up this lunch." With that he got up and strode out.

  Halas wiped the sweat from his brow and hands with the napkin, then sat there. Everything was wrong. No matter what he did, he stood to lose heavily. First, to survive, he had to pick the winner, then he had to ensure that the winner would let him live. It was not that clear that Munro would win, but even if he did, he could hardly be trusted. He could try to turn Munro in to Commissioner Kotchetkova, but there was no guarantee that she wouldn't arrest him on the spot. In any case Garrett had the evidence, and both she and Kleppe had been extremely cold towards him. It was that numbered money. When he could not produce his money, they knew. The question was, would their desire to be rid of Munro overcome their distrust of him? Or would they use him, then betray him?

  That was his problem. There was absolutely nobody he could trust. It was of no consolation at all as he realized this was because nobody could trust him.

  Chapter 21

  "You wished to see me, sir?" He stood to attention, but showed no sign of emotion.

  "Sit down," Gaius indicated a chair. "There are two reasons. The first is I've decided to make a field promotion. You are now a squadron leader."

  "Well . . . thank you, sir."

  "You don't seem very positive about it?"

  "It's so, well, quick, and . . ."

  "And you're young, and everyone's going to think it's favouritism?" Gaius said in a tone that challenged his newest promotion to dispute the issue of favouritism.

  "Well, I guess the regulars won't like it very much," Harry replied with a shrug.

  "It's a curse you'll have to wear," Gaius grinned. "Addressing quick, by your age I'd been a tribunis laticlavius for some time. That roughly corresponds to something a bit above Brigadier." His face became more serious as he continued, "Do your job properly, and the men will follow. As for favouritism, believe me, you've earned it, and as for the others, well, if they start earning, they'll get it too. I'm pushing the promotions of those who will be useful as fast as I can, and the rest are, well, being side-lined."

  "Thank you sir. I won't let you down."

  "I know," Gaius nodded. "Now, just for the moment, I want you to drop the rank. I'd like to speak to you openly, because I need to know one or two things. I'd like you to ask me a question."

  "A question? About what?"

  "Anything about the greater picture that puzzles you. If nothing puzzles you, then I'm afraid I have the wrong man."

  "There're a lot of things," Harry started.

  "Try one," Gaius suggested.

  "All right," Harry said, then added with a grin, "Don't say you didn't ask for this!"

  "I wouldn't dare," Gaius chuckled.

  "One thing I'm curious about," Harry started, "is the Ulsian's attitude to us. Do they really consider us primitive?"

  "They thought of me as an outright barbarian," Gaius admitted, "at least initially. The Gods alone know what they'd make of you. But no, as a general rule, primitive is the wrong word. The Ulsians recognize that this civilization is far behind theirs, but that's hardly surprising, is it? I mean, they've been civilized four thousand times longer than Earth has, at the best estimate. They should have achieved something more in that time."

  "Scientifically, are we that far behind?"

  "You've a long way to go yet, and I can't tell you what you don't know."

  "But we haven't made any really significant discoveries for a long time," Harry muttered. "Our physics seems tidy. There're no gaping holes, or at least there doesn't seem to be."

  "I've been studying your history," Gaius said. "That's what physi
cists would have said at the end of the nineteenth century. Then, after a few foggy photographic plates, you had a tremendous explosion in scientific knowledge. You discovered relativity, quantum mechanics, nuclear physics, subatomic particles. That's a pretty impressive leap forward."

  "But then we got stuck again. Maybe we really are primitive. Maybe it's staring us in the face, and we can't see it."

  "Maybe it is," Gaius said enigmatically.

  "I can see I'm going to get a lot out of you," Harry laughed.

  "I can tell you something," Gaius smiled, "and in return, you might tell me something."

  "Me tell you something?"

  "Not about physics," Gaius laughed. "I'll tell you this much. When you stop making progress in physics, or in a lot of other things for that matter, your problem is as likely as not to be an attitudinal one. Step back and look at your problem from a fresh direction. It's like viewing a patchwork quilt; if you restrict your attention to the intense study of one patch, you'll never see the pattern of the quilt as a whole."

  "That's easy to say," Harry mused, "but not so easy to accomplish."

  "A change of attitude is easy, once you see where. I'll show you. I can do this because I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, although I'm sure you haven't made the connection. You people have something called the Uncertainty Principle."

  "Yes," Harry replied. "As far as I'm aware, it's correct."

  "What do you think an Ulsian teleport engineer would call that?"

  Harry looked at Gaius with a totally stunned expression. "As it's taught in the schools," Harry mused, "that would make teleportation very difficult."

  "It would, if you had to reproduce the exact position and momentum of every subatomic particle, and there was a principle which said it was impossible to do it."

  "But you don't have to do that," Harry ventured, "because otherwise even Ulsians wouldn't get teleportation to work."