The first time the then-teenager noticed the stainless steel access plate, and used a nail file to remove the screws, the clean-out compartment had been deliciously empty. The perfect place to stash her diary or the stim sticks she was experimenting with. But, when Natalie removed the cover three days later, she discovered that someone, and her mother seemed the most likely candidate, had put the compartment to use.
A high-quality durasteel hand safe, complete with microcomputer and thumb lock, had been stored inside, and threatened to trigger a siren when she handled it. Fearful of what her mother might say or do if that happened, the girl returned the cube to its hiding place, replaced the cover, and decided never to touch it again. Not until now, that is ... assuming it was there.
The carpet still bore the impressions left by furniture that had occupied the office for the last ten years. The matching desks that belonged to her parents, a variety of storage cabinets, and the display case that contained the nameplate from their first ship all had left their individual marks. Natalie crossed the invisible line that had separated her father's half of the room from her mother's and entered the private rest room. There was a counter, a commode, and a shower stall. The art, towel racks, and other fittings, many of them quite valuable, had been removed by creditors.
Natalie's ship-style high-tops squeaked as she crossed the tiles and knelt by the commode. It felt cold against her left arm. The stainless steel plate looked as it had years before. Or were there more scratch marks around the screws? As if someone had removed and replaced them numerous times.
The young woman's heart thumped against her chest as she pulled the multitool from its pouch, chose the correct driver, selected "reverse," and pressed the "on" button with her thumb. The motor whined as the screws spun out of their respective holes, clattered on the tiles, and rolled into grout-filled valleys. The access cover fell away from the wall and clanged on the floor.
The overhead light didn't work, and it was dark inside the hidey-hole. Natalie turned the multitool's handle to the right and was rewarded with a narrowly focused beam of light. She peered into the hole and missed the crawl cam that inched its way across the ceiling and stationed itself next to the burned-out light.
Unaware that she was under surveillance, and eager to retrieve the safe, Natalie reached into the cavity. The cube was cool to the touch and quick to complain. "Put me back! I belong to Mary Voss! Get your hands off me!"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Natalie said as she slipped the earplugs into place, "life is a bitch." In spite of the fact that she had anticipated the possibility, and come prepared to deal with it, the siren, combined with the noise generated by the carbide-tipped drill bit, was louder than she'd have liked. It was mercifully brief, however, as the tip tore through the safe's CPU, shorted the machine's circuits, and fried its brain.
Natalie was tempted to open the cube and peek inside, but knew the guard could arrive any moment. She dropped the safe into a handbag and was about to replace the access panel when the guard called. "Miss Voss? Where are you?"
"Right here," Natalie replied confidently, stepping out of her mother's bathroom. "I needed to freshen up."
The woman nodded understanding^ and brushed a wisp of gray hair out of her face. "Yes, of course, dear. Your mother spent a lot of money on that powder room. It's a shame what happened to it. Did you hear a noise of some sort? A siren, perhaps?"
Natalie walked over to a window. It looked out on a busy downtown street. "Why, yes, I did. I was in the bathroom at the time, but there was a noise."
The security guard shrugged. "Ah, well, emergency vehicles come and go all the time. That would explain it."
"Yes," Natalie said agreeably, "it would. Well, thanks for letting me in. A lot of memories are stored here."
The guard nodded, allowed that what had happened to her parents was "terrible, just terrible," and saw her to the front door. She gave Natalie a hug, locked the door behind her, and watched the girl walk away. The guard sighed, returned to her desk, and poured herself a cup of coffee. It was a sad, sad day.
Ari watched the video fade to black and waited for the almost inevitable criticism. It wasn't long in coming. Carnaby Orr rose from his high-backed chair, walked to the recently repaired windows, and looked out over the bay. "So, let's see if I understand. . . Your staff swept those offices on two separate occasions, and missed the compartment behind the toilet?"
Ari wanted to point out that the offices were huge, that the spacer knew exactly where to look, but refused to take refuge in excuses. "That's correct, sir. We searched the place twice and missed the panel on both occasions."
Orr was disappointed. He'd hoped to grill Ari, to work her over for a while, thereby releasing some of the pent-up frustration he felt. Now she had denied him that, and dared him to fire her, which he'd never do. Not for a long time anyway, assuming that she performed in bed, and remained loyal— something he paid two subordinates to monitor.
"Ah, well," the industrialist said grudgingly, "these things happen. No harm done, I suppose, especially since we have a good idea of what the safe contained, and couldn't use them anyway. Not legally, that is."
"We do?" Ari asked coolly. "Based on what?"
"Common sense," Orr said smugly, turning his back to the window. "Natalie Voss is nobody's fool. She heard what I offered her parents and knows a good deal when she hears one. Especially since she has none of the overweening pride and ambition that made her parents so unpleasant. No, I think Natalie has the coordinates and will be eager to sell them."
Ari could think of other possibilities, plenty of them, but saw no reason to rain on Orr's rather optimistic parade. Especially in light of the access panel fiasco. She nodded. "So? What now?"
"We close the deal," Orr said comfortably. "My lawyers will meet with the young lady and extend the same offer that I made to her parents."
"And if she refuses?"
Orr smiled and cupped her chin. "Then it will be your job to change her mind."
Traffic was thick, much thicker than anything found on La-Tri, and Sa-Lo was driving. The Traa could have hired a driver or rented an autocar, but he was unwilling to surrender control. Horns honked and humans made rude gestures as Sa-Lo wove back and forth through traffic. The Voss female had an intimate knowledge of the city and seemed intent on making every right- and left-hand turn it was possible to make.
They had already followed the flat-faced female to the building where Voss Lines had been headquartered, to the Bureau of Trade where her parents' deaths were the subject of an ongoing investigation, and from there on a series of errands.
Ka-Di was nervous the way he'd always been nervous since La-Ma's death, the same sort of keyed-up fluttery feeling that preceded combat—only worse, since combat had a beginning, middle, and end, and this went on forever.
And, as if to make a bad situation worse, La-Ma had caused Ka-Di's condition, or rather her death had, and it was to her, or a person very much like her, that he wanted to turn for help. But none were left, not after the eruption that decimated the Philosopher Sept, which meant there was little or no hope for a cure. The knowledge, and the helplessness that accompanied it, felt like a mantle of lead.
Sa-Lo swung into oncoming traffic, accelerated, and slid back into his lane just as a green-and-white hover bus roared through the space he had so recently vacated. Horns blared, and the commercial being bared his fangs. "Mannerless scum."
Ka-Di watched his mate-brother from the corner of his eye. "You seem worried ... is there something I can do?"
Sa-Lo responded with the Traa equivalent of a shrug. "Orr is wrong. He should wait until the investigation has been concluded before making an offer. This approach is too aggressive, too obvious, and might lead to trouble. It would behoove us to remember that while some of the authorities are stupid, some, like those recruited from your sept, are quite intelligent."
Ka-Di had been comfortable with Orr's approach. After all, he was a warrior, and what was commerce if n
ot symbolic warfare? The head-on attack is not only honorable, but frequently successful, and always worth consideration. Still, many are the ways of victory, and Sa-Lo could be right. Especially where Traa investigators were concerned. Though drawn from the Warrior Sept, they were required to sever all connections with it while they served the Confederacy. Not that they always did. The warrior chose his words with care. ' 'You may be correct, Sa-Lo, but this is the price we pay for working through others."
Sa-Lo grunted an acknowledgment, slipped between a pair of trucks, and slammed on the brakes. The vehicle skidded to a halt. The female was in front of him. She executed two right-hand turns and entered her hotel. Their hotel, since the Traa were reluctant to rely on Orr's security apparatus and preferred to keep an eye on Natalie personally. The Traa followed the human down into an underground garage, parked their vehicle a discreet distance away, and waited while she entered the lift tubes. Natalie was in her room by the time Ka-Di and Sa-Lo arrived on the ninth floor, thumbed the lock panel on the adjoining suite, and let themselves in.
It took less than a minute to pop the lid on the surveillance case, power up, and check the female's activities. Five different crawl cams had been inserted into her quarters via the air-conditioning ducts, and two of them were close enough to provide clean audio when the doorbell rang. Ka-Di frowned and watched over Sa-Lo's shoulder as the flat-face answered the door.
Natalie thought she'd seen most everything. But the man in the hall was equipped with two heads. One rested where it should, centered between the shoulders of an expensively cut suit, while the other peered out from under his arm, and was first to speak. Head number two had a craggy brow, hooked nose, and thin, almost cruel lips. She knew it to be an Artificial Intelligence, or AI, but thought of it as human. "Citizen Voss?"
Natalie positioned herself to slam the door in both faces. "Yes?"
"My name is Johnson and this is my associate, Frank Shank. Of the law firm Johnson, Shank, and Wong? Perhaps you've heard of us?"
Natalie shook her head. "No, I don't believe I have. But I don't spend much time on Mechnos. What can I do for you?"
Shank spoke for the first time. His face was too handsome, too perfect, to be real. "We represent Carnaby Orr. He sends his condolences regarding the death of your parents and wonders if we could be of assistance."
Natalie frowned. "Assistance? The law firm my parents used has responsibility for their estate."
"No," Johnson replied firmly. "Mr. Orr thought that you might be interested in a business proposal. May we come in?"
Natalie shrugged and opened the door. "Sure, make yourselves at home."
Shank thanked her, entered the room, and placed Johnson on the coffee table. The AI seemed comfortable there and looked around. A vid screen occupied the wall where a window might have been. The furniture was comfortable rather than stylish. The crawl cams radiated heat, and Johnson recognized them as belonging to the Traa. The machine smiled. "Nice room."
Natalie took a seat. "Thank you. So, tell me. What sort of business proposal does Mr. Orr have in mind?"
Shank removed an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve. "You were present at the meeting between Mr. Orr and your parents?"
Natalie nodded. "Yes, I was there."
"Well," Johnson said, reclaiming control of the conversation, "while Mr. Orr would have preferred to have reached some sort of accommodation with Mr. and Mrs. Voss, or barring that, to have postponed this discussion until a later date, we advised him to move more aggressively. So, if a desire to pursue such discussions seems hasty, or lacking in taste, the offense is ours and ours alone."
The handbag, and the safe that it contained, lay inches from Natalie's right hand. Seemliness, or the lack of it, was the farthest thing from her mind. Were the coordinates in the safe? If so, she had something to sell, and someone who wanted to buy. If not, she needed time. "No, my parents were business people, and understood the saying 'Time is money.' But there are other things to consider, such as fair market price, and the possibility that others may wish to vie with Mr. Orr for the rights to the Mescalero Gap."
Johnson frowned ever so slightly and sent a scrambled radio signal toward a receiver located one floor below. "Yes, well, market conditions are an important aspect of any business arrangement. There is another saying, however: 'A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.' Why wait if you can come to an equitable deal now?"
The words seemed to hang there, suspended in midair, as Natalie looked from the disembodied head up to the equally strange man who carried it around. This was what she wanted, wasn't it? Assuming she had the coordinates or could find them? A quick, efficient deal that would produce the maximum amount of money in the least amount of time. Then why did the lawyers look so evil? And why did the situation feel so wrong? The words seemed to form themselves.
"You make a valid point, Mr. Johnson, and one I will keep in mind. In the meantime, I beg your indulgence. I have a brother to consider. He'll be eighteen soon and should have his say."
Ka-Di barely had time to look at Sa-Lo before Natalie's door opened, allowing three additional people to enter. A less experienced person might have assumed that Ari and her heavies had barged into the wrong room, or might have wasted time asking stupid questions, but Natalie had spent a lot of time on backwater planets and seized the initiative.
The officer came off the couch in one fluid motion. She grabbed Johnson by the ears and lifted him off the table. He weighed twice what a real head would have, and tried to bite her. She ignored the flashing white teeth and threw the machine at Ari. The security chief caught the head with a whoosh of expelled air and fell over backwards. She continued to fall as Natalie grabbed the handbag, twirled it around her head, and connected with the first assailant's face. He yelled, grabbed his nose, and danced a jig.
The other security person, a woman, grinned and gestured toward the handbag. "You've been lucky so far, honey ... don't push it. Give me the purse and stay out of the hospital."
Natalie looked contrite and offered the bag. The woman latched onto the strap as Ari shouted, "No! Don't do it!" Natalie jerked the woman off balance and kneed her in the stomach. The double fist-strike, delivered to the woman's neck, finished her off. She collapsed in a heap.
Ari came to her feet. Natalie turned, entered the bedroom, and locked the door. The knob rattled as she stepped onto the balcony. Natalie slipped her head through the shoulder strap, climbed onto the railing, and teetered back and forth. It was a long way to the cement below. A body hit the door. Wood shattered and someone swore. Natalie threw herself forward. Wind rushed by her face.
7
No man can put a chain about the ankle of his fellow man without at last finding the other end fastened about his own neck.
Fredrick Douglass
American abolitionist
The Planet New Hope
Moisture evaporated from the trenches that crisscrossed the holding pens as the yellow-orange sun climbed higher in the sky. The stench increased and the hours grew longer. Dorn's cellmate died about 3:00 in the afternoon but no one came for the body till well after dark. Dorn attempted to plead his case as they dragged the corpse through the door. "My name is Dorn Voss and I'm not supposed to be here. Could I speak with the person in charge, please?"
The men had agreed to collect dead bodies in return for extra food. One of them balanced the additional corpse on top of an already full cart while the other returned for the lantern. His feet slapped on wet concrete. He had unruly black hair, at least four days' worth of beard, and a gravelly voice. He held the light up, and a giant appeared on the wall behind him. "Take it from me, boy ... none of us is supposed to be here ... but this is where we are. Conserve your strength. Use it to survive. That's all anyone can do." The man exited the cell, the gate clanged closed, and the light wobbled away.
A bowl of steaming mush was shoved under the gate an hour later. It had a yeasty smell and contained lumps of what might have been meat. Dorn was so
famished he didn't care what the mixture contained. He scooped the concoction into his mouth, chewed hungrily, and licked the bowl clean. The meal left him thirsty, but there wasn't any water beyond what had accumulated in the cell's lowest corner. He considered scooping some up but decided not to. Not with the bacteria that swarmed in it. Not yet, anyway.
The teenager wrapped his arms around his knees, ignored his thirst, and waited for morning to come. He wanted a stim stick and cursed his own weakness. Voices murmured in the next cell, a deep racking cough came from across the way, and a prayer drum could be heard in the distance. Dorn started the slide toward self-pity and was almost there when the corpse collector's words came back to him. "Conserve your strength. Use it to survive. That's all anyone can do."
The words amounted to little more than common sense but triggered an important understanding. Suddenly Dorn realized that he had responsibility for his life. Not his parents, not his teachers, not society in general. Yes, life had dealt him a bad hand, but only after a long series of good ones. It was he who had ignored Tull's advice and gambled his money away. Maybe someone would come to his rescue and maybe they wouldn't. His job was to survive, and that's what he would do. The key was to think about each move that he made and devise realistic plans for his release.
Rats chased each other up and down the far side of the cell for a while, but Dorn grew accustomed to their antics and drifted off to sleep. Nothingness felt good.
Dorn awoke to the sound of male voices and the clatter of chains. Light filtered through the bars and threw rectangles on the floor. His mouth tasted foul, and his shoulder ached from sleeping on the ground. A key rattled and hinges squealed. The guard was short and stocky. He smiled and slapped his leg with a half-coiled whip. "Morning, sweetums, time to rise and shine."
True to his new philosophy, Dorn wasted no time pleading his case before what amounted to a minor functionary and hurried to exit the cell. Mud squished between the teenager's toes as he stepped out into the sun. He blinked and stumbled as the man pushed from behind. "What's the matter, sweetums? You think I got all day? Get your ass to the other end of the line."
Where the Ships Die Page 7
