Catspaw

by Joan D. Vinge

  I leaned forward in sudden surprise. Jardan glanced over at me, irritated.

  “I told him that I would be here today because I believed that even something on the scale of the Federation Assembly or a multiworld combine could still be influenced, if the evidence had enough weight, enough public opinion behind it pushing. I know that there are enough individual citizens inputting us here to influence the courses chosen by even such gigantic systems. You have the access right in your hands to register your opinion on the open Net. I want you to do that, whatever your decision is, so that you can see the power you still have, if you choose to use it.

  “Because yesterday this person asked me some other questions, hard questions about the things I believed in. The Federation he knows is a very different place from the one I know. It made me realize how easy it is to dismiss a problem that doesn’t seem to touch you directly—how deceptive, how dangerous. He also said to me that ‘you have to know a place to really see its ugliness.…’ Well, I know the biochem business.”

  I listened as she went on speaking, telling them her vision of what letting these chemicals loose could do to the individual human identities of the billions of people receiving her, and how easily it could be done. Telling everyone that she was on the board of a drug combine that held the major patents on those drugs. That it would make profits off of them that would bloat ChemEnGen (and Centauri, although she didn’t mention it by name). Telling the Federation that she still couldn’t accept the promises that had been made about safety, because she knew too well how much promises were worth.… The words weren’t that different from the ones Isplanasky had spoken; but there was a heat behind them that seared them into your brain. As if this wasn’t just a matter of ideology, but something she felt as responsible for as her own life. As if those invisible billions were her own family, her children.…

  Jardan sat silently beside me, her eyes on Elnear, her face shining with pride and reflected light. All the speakers had been good, but Elnear was genuine, original—the best.

  But she wasn’t the last. I looked at Stryger as Mandragora introduced him, and all the eyes in the room, real or recording, began to focus on him. He was the only one who seemed to belong here. His face was as translucent and glowing as the air, radiating the intensity of his own belief, in himself, in the divine power he thought was speaking through him. If this place hadn’t been chosen just to suit him, it might as well have been. He began to speak: strong but easy words, nothing about God or damnation; letting the listeners know he wasn’t a fanatic, or a combine vip, but just a concerned Everybody.

  I tried not to listen to what he was saying or to look at him, and yet my glance kept falling out of the air, away from the windows, back to his face again. Partly because I couldn’t help hating him; and partly because, like the last time, I just couldn’t look away. Maybe absolute confidence gave you that kind of gravitational pull, or maybe it was just the fanatic’s intensity he’d been born with. But I kept watching, kept listening, as his speech slowly sucked a billion minds into the “dark underside of life” that he claimed to understand, like he really knew anything about it.… About killing to stay alive, about stealing to keep from starving, about making ten credits the hard way, and using it to buy enough drugs to help you forget what you’d just done to earn it.… Talking about how his drugs could “let the light” into the minds and lives of all those deeves and pervs and psions (and there was no change in his voice, as if he didn’t really hate psions any more than murderers or rapists)—those troublemakers who still kept crawling out of the cracks to violate humanity, kept it from running like a perfect machine, when we had the means within our grasp to change all that forever—His voice was ringing now, his eyes were smoking, but I could feel him still in perfect control of the rising spiral.

  And there was nothing at all on the readout below him, nothing that would prove to anyone watching whether he meant every word of it or not. He wasn’t cybered, Isplanasky had said. He had no way to tie into the Indy’s system. But somehow, instead of making him seem like he had something to hide, it only made him seem to be above all that, so goddamn pure that he didn’t need to prove his sincerity to anyone.

  “… Lady Elnear is concerned that deregulating the production of these drugs might lead to their misuse.…”

  I looked up again, as I heard him mention Elnear.

  “… But I believe that it would be taking them out of the hands of those people who already misuse and abuse them … the criminals who now produce and illegally sell tiny quantities of these drugs for astronomical prices on the Lack Market. To defend the laws that force these drugs into the hands of those very criminals who are now the only ones who profit from them financially is hardly in anyone’s best interest. They are the ones who could profit the most morally if the drugs were used as they were meant to be used.

  “To suggest, as Lady Elnear has, that using these drugs for the purpose God intended is evil can only be called misguided. To say that the combine networks that provide for all our needs are worse than the criminals that exploit us is irresponsible. I have always believed that Lady Elnear was sincere in her unflinching crusade to create a more humane society—

  “But now I must question you, Lady.” He turned to face her, violating the structure of the debate, which was supposed to leave Mandragora in charge of asking the questions. “Are you not in fact protecting the deviants in our society, protecting those degenerates you claim to detest as much as I do?”

  Elnear looked at him, startled, caught off-guard. “Of course not. I’m sure you know that that was not my point at all—”

  “It has come to my attention, Lady Elnear, that you actually have a psion, a Hydran halfbreed, a telepath, employed on your personal staff. Isn’t that true?”

  Elnear flushed; for a second her gaze left Stryger’s face, flashed out over the watchers. The readouts jumped and changed colors below her. “Well … yes, I do … but—” Beside me Jardan murmured a curse. I felt her sudden useless fury as she looked at me.

  “What possible reason could you have for employing a member of a group known for its instability and criminality, its destructive effect on society? I hardly need to remind anyone here of what would have happened to the Federation if the psionic renegade called Quicksilver had successfully seized control of the Federation Mines, only three years ago—”

  “I don’t believe in holding an entire group responsible for the actions of a few of its members,” Elnear said. She recovered fast. “There is a long history of persecution of psions—both Hydran and human—by the Federation. I have always tried to judge individuals on their own abilities.”

  “This individual, who serves as your personal aide, has a criminal record. Were you aware that he was one of the psions who conspired with the terrorist Quicksilver to hold the Federation’s telhassium supply for ransom?”

  Elnear broke off again, her mouth still halfway open for speech. “No, I wasn’t aware.…”

  “His record also includes assault, theft, and drug abuse … an all too typical record.…”

  I swore softly. How the hell did he find out? It wasn’t in the public records. And he was making me out to be a traitor, and that was a goddamn lie. I wanted to shout it out to Elnear, to the whole Federation—

  Jardan caught my arm as I started to get up, jerking me around. “Move!” she hissed at me. I felt her rage transfer through her hand and up my arm, into my head. “Before you do any more damage.”

  “But it’s a lie—”

  “Shut up, you fool.” She dragged me toward the closest exit, her mind a nightmare of what would happen if those hypers gathered like a pack of dogs around us got hold of me.

  “It’s hard for me to believe that with the security access available to you, you wouldn’t have known about such a thing,” Stryger was baying. “How you could possibly consider such a person suitable to work for you, unless there was some other reason.…”

  I didn’t give Jardan any m
ore argument; I just followed, as fast as I could, keeping my head down until we reached the door. The door read our IDs and released, letting us out without any trouble.

  “There were unusual circumstances.…” I heard Elnear protesting, felt her rising desperation drowned in my mind by the rising excitement of the crowd. And then the door sealed shut behind us, cutting off her voice, and that was the last I heard.

  The cold, sheer-walled tunnel of street was silent and empty, except for the floating banks of lights high above us. Security had cleared everything for levels around before the debate started. As we stopped outside Jardan turned suddenly, before I even had time to react, and hit me.

  “Damn it, Jardan—” I gasped.

  “God damn you!” I saw the furious tears backing up in her eyes. She said, “The worst part is that Stryger is right about psions!”

  “Wait a minute—” Pain began to throb behind my own eyes, frustration trying to beat its way out.

  A mod dropped down from somewhere, answering her summons. ChemEnGen’s logo was on its side. She climbed into it; tried to slam the door on me. I forced it open again. She let me in, but only because she remembered how much worse it would be for Elnear if she left me there for the hypers to find. She sat back in her seat, pressing into the formfoam. The mod began to drone, “Destination please, destination please, destination please,” until she finally gave it orders.

  “Damn it,” I said. “It’s Stryger, not me!”

  She looked back at me, wiping fiercely at her face. “If you didn’t exist, there was nothing he could have done to her—nothing. That was true, what he said about you. Wasn’t it—?” Her hand tightened into a fist.

  “No! He twisted it around. I’m not a traitor.”

  “You don’t have a criminal record?”

  “Yeah, but.…” But nobody was supposed to know that.… It wasn’t my fault … I shook my head. It didn’t matter. I’d lost Elnear the debate, and maybe the vote, and the Council … her freedom, the freedom of every psion. By being a psion. The answer to Stryger’s prayers.

  I shut my eyes, put my hands over my ears, bit my lip, stopped breathing.… To keep my brain from screaming out loud. The pain circled my head like a knotted cord, tightening … eased off as I slowly got myself under control again. After a few more deep breaths, I opened my eyes.

  Jardan was rigid in her seat, staring at me like she thought she was trapped with a lunatic. I lowered my hands, wove my fingers together in the space between my knees to steady them. She looked away from me finally, wishing we were already at our destination, wishing I’d disappear.

  The mod went on silently through the hollow streets, the endless muted silvers and grays, blue-greens and golds, the steel and composite caverns. We flowed through the arteries and veins of a fossilized insect sealed in high-tech amber, heading toward some destination I didn’t have any control over. We’d been supposed to go back to the FTA plex after the debate; but that wasn’t really an option, now. I wondered how much longer the questions would go on behind us, how long Elnear would have to face them down. I began to sweat just thinking about having those bloodsucking hypers after my throat. I wondered where we were going, where Jardan thought she could hide me from them.

  At last we funneled into one of the arching legs that straddled the river on the western edge of the city. The inner skin of the tube was fleshed with more city, with offices and townhouses. The mod homed in on one of them, tracking its electronic scent like a hound until we were setting down on a terrace somewhere high above the river. A taMing townhouse. I remembered that there was going to be a reception here tonight, for Elnear, after the debate. More like a funeral, now. Until now, Elnear’s biggest worry about tonight had been that parties wasted her time.

  I couldn’t look down along the glass-smooth, green/black building front as we crossed the black mirror of the polished terrace. Looking up along its curve was nearly as bad. I followed Jardan in through the high, lacquered doors, into a dark entry hall. Clatter and conversation reached us from a distance; I could feel the electricity of minds overloading with last-minute preparation for tonight. But here, just inside the entrance, it was still quiet, and we were still alone.

  Jardan turned on me, hard-eyed. Her hand gripped my arm until it spasmed. “Follow me. Say nothing.” She led me through the townhouse, avoiding everyone as she took me up in a lift three or four levels. She left me in a cramped, stuffy room that passed for a study, even though I knew by the dead smell of the air that no one ever used it. “Keep the door locked. Speak to no one, until the Lady has spoken to you. Do you understand me?”

  I nodded, and she left me there alone. I stood in the middle of the room, without even the strength to move, staring around me. The room was high and narrow, like everything about this place. At its end there was a high, narrow window. Outside the early evening light was slanting across the river; shadows were filling in the valleys of the city’s carapace. The space around me was filled with a fungal growth of pale, diseased-looking furniture.

  I hated the thought of touching anything, afraid it might crumble away like rotting wood, but after a while I got tired of standing. I went toward the window, sat down on the quivering edge of a shelf-seat. I couldn’t hear any sounds now. I stared out at the view of the sheer, shining city wall, the gray-blue river waters rolling by below. A few hours ago it would have seemed beautiful to me; but suddenly nothing looked like it had before.

  I sat and thought about the time when the most important thing in my life had been whether I could scrounge enough food to make it through another week; when all I’d cared about was slipping enough stolen goods to a freedrop to make what I owed to the dealerman; when a tough problem was finding a warm place to sleep at night. When everything was simple: Life, or death.… I slumped forward, letting my aching head rest in my hands. When I hadn’t understood why somebody only had to look at me to hate me.

  I stayed like that, waiting, while the sky slowly changed beyond the windows and the world blued over … until the day was teetering on the edge of night. Then at last I heard the soft sucking sound as the door opened, and Elnear came into the room.

  ELEVEN

  I HEARD THE mingled voices of people passing in the hall behind Elnear; all sound stopped as she closed the door. I got up, while light oozed out of hidden crannies in the walls. Elnear stood where she was, her body rigid. The anger and betrayal she felt as she faced me at last forced its way in through all my senses. There was nothing soft or weak about her now … like understanding, or sympathy, or even pity. I could forget about those. Finally she said, “I hope that Centauri is satisfied. Your presence in my life turned today’s debate into a disaster—an exercise in futility. We will certainly lose the upcoming vote on deregulation now.” Which meant she’d lose the Security Council slot too; she didn’t even need to mention that. “Because of you.” Or that either, but she did.

  I looked away at the deepening indigo of the sky, back at her. We were both too visible, there was no hiding place, standing here inside this lens of light. I didn’t answer, looking at the floor now.

  “You’re usually quicker on your feet.” There was a tone in her voice I’d never heard before. “Aren’t you going to argue with me? At least you usually argue with me. A good saboteur always tries to cover his work, I thought. But then, I suppose your real job is done. And I thought you were only sent here to spy on me.”

  I looked up. “That ain’t—isn’t what I’m here for, goddamn it. It’s not my fault Stryger hates psions. I didn’t tell him to nail me!”

  “You could at least have told me,” she said, her voice cold, “that you were a criminal.”

  “I’m not—” I shook my head. “Stryger twisted everything around. I was pardoned. I’m clean. My record was sealed, buried, nobody can access it any more. I don’t even know how he found out—”

  “Anyone can find out anything, with the right contacts. And he certainly has them.” She threw the wrap she was car
rying down onto the couch. She began to move restlessly back and forth, glancing at me as she moved. “The worst part of the entire ordeal was being accused of conspiring with criminals—as if by attempting to keep these drugs restricted, I want to afflict all of humanity with a plague of degenerates and sociopaths!” Her open hand came down on a tabletop, hard. “I had to agree with him, grant him his point, or look like a liar as well as a hypocrite … because of course I agree that criminal behavior and deviancy should be controlled—”

  “You mean, like psions? Isn’t it enough they can’t get hired for most kinds of work? Ain’t it enough they get brainwiped if they ever get caught using their psi to commit a crime? Stryger wants them brainwiped the minute they’re born. That’s why he wants pentryptine deregulated. That’s why he wants to be on the Security Council. So then he can have ’em all put in relocation dumps, and then he can make it illegal for them to breathe—” My voice broke. It had already happened to the Hydrans … it had happened to my mother. Now Stryger wanted to make it happen to anybody with a single psi gene drowned in their chromosome pool. I knew what he wanted … I knew. I pulled my voice back together. “You said up there that psions deserved to be judged like everybody else, one on one. I almost thought you believed it. You could’ve pushed harder, you could’ve fought him—”

  Except that after what he’d said, calling me a criminal and a traitor, she hadn’t wanted to. Stryger was right. The same thought, the same betrayal and disgust as I’d seen in Jardan’s mind. “You brought this on yourself.”

  “Half of what he said about me was lies. You believed him, without even makin’ him prove it. Yesterday, I thought you.…” My empty hands made fists. “Why?”

  “Because what he said about psions is true,” she snapped. “Psions are mentally unstable, sociopaths—harming themselves as well as the people around them.” Thinking of Jule, thinking of me … the only psions she’d ever seen. But she knew the stereotype: psions were all floaters, freaks, head cases. We’d only proved the point. “Perhaps they would be better off if their … powers were under some kind of control.…” Now she was the one who wouldn’t meet my eyes. Some part of her knew even as she said it that it wasn’t right, or just; that it denied everything she had always thought she believed. But she couldn’t help herself … and her guilt only gave her resentment more strength.