“And the Anabasis is operating within a condition of Stellar Group emergency? Clever so far, Commander. But nothing to do with me. Two more minutes.”
“Lotos, you’re still missing the point. I’m here to help you.”
“And the Sargasso Dump guards are going to win this year’s Mastermind contest. What’s the pitch?”
“One minute will be enough.” Brachis put his pencil viewer back in his pocket. “Mondrian and I have the responsibility for training the Pursuit Teams. If we do a bad job, and the Morgan Construct wipes out the teams, we get the blame. But not just us—all humans, in the minds of the Stellar Group. The training responsibility will not really be Dougal MacDougal’s fault, or yours. But as ambassador, he’ll feel the worst heat, and you are next in line. Do you want that?”
“You’re sneaky as Mondrian.”
“I take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn’t one.”
“And my two minutes are up.” Brachis was glancing at his watch. “I guess I have to stop and get out.”
“Don’t bait me, Luther. Get on with it. You’ve never seen me nasty.”
“I dread the day. The big problem is this. How do you train a group to seek out and destroy a Morgan Construct, when you don’t have one and they’ve never seen anything like one? Build another, to use for training?”
“Never. That idea would be vetoed by the Ambassadors instantly.”
“Right. Even if we knew the complete construction methods, which we don’t. So we have to go with the next best thing. We use some other form, something that looks and acts like a Morgan Construct, but isn’t one.”
“Logical. But still nothing to do with me.”
“Suppose that you, and you alone, were in possession of such a thing? An Artefact, or rather, a set of ten identical ones, for use in Pursuit Team training. Unable to harm a human or other intelligent life form.”
“Now you sound like Livia Morgan.”
“And she was wrong. I know that. But there is really no comparison. She was working right at the frontier of what can be done, while the rules and technology for manufacture of Artefacts are well-established even if they are restricted to Earth. And we can run these creatures through every environment we like, for as long as we like, until you are convinced that they are perfectly safe. Then you tell Ambassador MacDougal that you—and you alone—have the answer to all the problems of practical Pursuit Team training. You get all the credit. That’s my pitch.”
“No. It’s less than half of it. Do you have these Artefacts?”
“I would not be here otherwise. They are available now, packed away in suspended storage.”
“Where?”
“I didn’t hear that, Lotos. But if you could arrange for me to be reinstated at the same level as Mondrian, with equal authority in the Anabasis, my hearing might improve.”
“That’s what I was waiting for. That’s the second half of your pitch. It can’t be done.”
“No?” Brachis stood up. “Then I guess I’m on my way.”
“Sit down, Luther. I’m interested, but you have to realize what you’re asking. You know Dougal MacDougal as well as I do. So I’m supposed to make him persuade the other three Stellar Group ambassadors to change their minds, when he can’t even look at the Angel Ambassador without having a nervous breakdown? How do you propose I do that?”
“MacDougal doesn’t have to talk them into anything. All he has to do is send them a message, revealing that I had a bigger hand than he thought in the original fiasco. According to their crazy logic, if I’m as guilty as Mondrian we’ll share equal responsibility for clearing up the mess.”
“That’s the most stupid thing I ever heard.”
“Almost as stupid as the original decision to put Mondrian in charge. It will work.”
“Suppose it does. How do I know I’ll get credit for the Artefacts?”
“No one else will be asking for credit. I’ll deny involvement if I’m asked.”
“And how do I deal with Esro Mondrian when he finds out he’s not top dog any more?”
“He won’t blame you, he’ll blame the Stellar Group. You sound like you’re afraid of him.”
“Of course I am. I’m not a fool, Luther.” Lotos showed an even display of pearly teeth—a smile, to anyone who did not know her. “You are a simpler soul, Luther. When you don’t like somebody, you do your best to kill them on the spot. With friend Esro, people who get in his way die smiling and never feel the wound. If he has six different agendas going, I can never guess more than four or five of them. He manipulates you, he manipulates me, he manipulates everybody. You and Mondrian are both dangerous men. But I like you a lot better.”
“You’re too kind.”
“I mean it. You are ambitious. He is driven. You are dangerous like a bear. He is like a snake.”
“And what kind of animal are you?”
“Need you ask?” The innocent eyes widened. “I’m a sweet little honey-bee. All I ask is a little nectar from each flower, with no harm to anyone.”
“You’ll get lots of nectar from this one.”
“Perhaps. I like what I’ve heard, but I have to take routine precautions. For example, what’s to stop Mondrian from arranging for a supply of these same Artefacts, once he knows that they exist? He knows Earth well, better than either you or I. For that matter, what’s to stop you from doing the same thing? You know the source, and I don’t, and once I’ve done my part of the deal I have no protection.”
“I have a way to reassure you fully on that question. When the ten Artefacts are in your possession, there will be no others. I’ll show you why—when everything else is settled.”
“With that understanding, you have a deal. I’ll set up the preliminaries. Ambassador MacDougal is busy with an Adestis safari—” she waited for the snort of disgust from Brachis “—but I should be able to see him by the end of the day. I’ll be in touch with you after that.”
She stood up, but now it was Luther Brachis who remained in his chair. “There is one thing more. A detail, but without it there can be no agreement.”
“For God’s sake, Luther. Drop the other shoe—and it had better be a small one.”
“I want Solar citizenship arranged for someone. Fast.”
“From one of the colonies? That takes time, even for me.”
“Not from the colonies. From Earth.”
“Then it’s easy. Who is he?”
“She. It’s a woman, Godiva Lomberd.”
“Why citizenship? Why not just a visitor’s visa?”
“I propose to engage in a contract with her.”
“Sweet charity.” Sheldrake’s face took on something close to a real expression. “A contract! What a day this is turning out to be. First you offer Artefacts, which used to turn your stomach at even the thought. Then it’s Luther Brachis, the invincible, with an Earth-woman. You must have told me fifty times that nothing good ever comes from Earth. You even had me persuaded of it. And now—a contract! My opinion of you must be revised. You are not a bear, you are a blind mole.”
“Insult does me no harm. But you will arrange for her citizenship?”
“If the Artefacts are what you claim.” Lotos Sheldrake glanced at the notebook on her desk. “We need to talk timing. I believe that everything I need to do can be finished within five days or less.”
“Then that’s when you will get the Artefacts. And the next day, Godiva Lomberd must link up from Earth.”
“It will be done.” Lotos moved with him toward the door. “And when she is here, I have a request: bring her to see me. I am curious to meet the one woman in the system who can make Commander Luther Brachis go soft in the head.”
* * *
“Do you have it with you?”
King Bester nodded and patted the bag that he was carrying. “Every last crystal.”
“Then come in.” The heavy outer door closed, shutting out the night sky of Earth, and the Margrave led the way to his pr
ivate study.
Bester had never been there before, and he stared around with open curiosity. It was a room that had been decorated with immense care, somehow blending to one harmonious whole the Qin dynasty terracotta horsemen, the Beardsley early prints, the original Vermeers and van Meegerens, and the computer art. In one corner, shielded from direct light, stood the bulbous form of Sorudan.
“Still got the singer, I see.” Bester nodded towards Sorudan.
“Yes, indeed.” The Margrave waved his visitor to an armchair. “I have been offered enormous amounts for Sorudan, but I consider it my prize creation. I will never sell. A drink, perhaps, to celebrate a successful transaction?”
“You bet, squire.”
Fujitsu examined the King closely, assessing the sophistication of the other man’s palate. At last he shrugged, disappeared into a closet in the corner of the study, and emerged carrying a bottle of pale amber liquid and two small glasses.
“Looks like good stuff,” said Bester.
“The best. Despite all our claims of progress, one cannot improve on perfection.” Fujitsu carefully poured two ounces of fluid into each glass and handed one to his guest.
Bester sniffed it and wrinkled his nose. He leaned his head back and drained the glass in one gulp. “Mmm.” He rolled his eyes. “Bit of all right, that. What is it?”
The Margrave glared.
“It is—or it was—one of the finest distilled liquors ever produced on Earth or off it. Santory scotch whiskey, cask-aged in the Hokkaido deep vaults, a single malt two hundred and fifty years old.” The Margrave took a first delicate sip. “Superb. When I hear of the nectar of the gods, I wonder how it could improve on this.” He shook his massive bald head. “Ah, well. Pearls before swine. I suppose we may as well get down to business. Did Brachis comment on the delivery?”
“Not a word.” Bester lifted the bag and placed it on the table between them. “I saw these counted in, and you might want to do the same coming out.” He saw the Margrave’s look. “Hey, don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t take any. This is just the way it was given to me.”
The bag was full of virgin trade crystals, their uncut surfaces gleaming a dull rust-red in the subdued light of the study. Bester lifted the crystals out in handfuls, examining each one and gloating over its quality before he set it on the table in front of Fujitsu.
“Best I’ve ever seen. Hey, wait a minute. What’s this doing in here?” Bester drew out a thin flat plate, round in shape and a couple of inches across. Unlike the other trade crystals, it had a smooth surface and no inner glow. “I know I didn’t see this one going in.”
At the touch of his fingers, the blue-grey disk came alive. There was a swirl of color in the center of the plate, resolving after a second or two to form a picture. A likeness of Luther Brachis appeared in miniature and peered out at them.
“Remember what you told me, King?” The tiny cameo spoke in a distorted metallic voice. “Any information you wheedled out of Fujitsu was supposed to come back to me alone. What happened to your promise? And you, Fujitsu. Why did you tell the King?”
Bester stared at the image with bulging eyes. The Margrave had knocked over his glass and jerked nervously to his feet.
“You didn’t keep your word, did you, King?” went on the tinny voice. “The Margrave told you more than he should have about the Artefacts—and you didn’t waste any time finding another buyer for the information.” The light from the small plate was steadily increasing. The face of Luther Brachis had almost disappeared, swamped by the glare of the brightening disk.
“That was a very bad mistake, King,” said Brachis, in distorted tones.
“Bester!” The Margrave started towards the door of the study. “Don’t touch the crystals—and get out of here.”
His cry was too late. Bester still held half a dozen crystals in his other hand. He wanted to drop them, but they were sticking to his palm. He shook his hand wildly, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge all of them. They had begun to glow, together with the ones on the table and in the bag.
“As for you, Fujitsu,” went on Brachis, “I don’t know how much you were in on the deal. I do know you were indiscreet. If you are otherwise innocent, you have my apology. I’m afraid that is all I can give you.”
The Margrave was at the door. He paused for a moment and pointed back. The ugly face was distorted with fury. “I hope you can hear me, Brachis. I will receive my due. My full due. That I promise you.”
He could not say more, because King Bester had begun a hideous high-pitched screaming and a mad capering dance around the study. The crystals in his hand were now incandescent. Lines of fire from them were spreading up his arm, running in blue-white sprays of sparks to his shoulder and across to his chest. The flames grew more intense. Fujitsu’s last glimpse of King Bester was of a brilliant living torch, a faceless column of fire that still screamed and leaped in impossible agony.
The Margrave ran through the laboratory, slammed the heavy door behind him, and dashed up the stairs that led to the surface.
At the top he froze. A new voice, inhumanly high and pure, added a counterpoint to Bester’s screams.
“Sorudan! The light!” The Margrave could not run. He turned back and took three steps down the stairs. Then he groaned, clapped his hands to his ears, and headed again for the surface. Blind to any possible danger from Scavengers, he ran headlong across the cultivated fields. Behind him the skylights of the lab shone brightly and brighter, while from within an ethereal melody rose ever higher and more beautiful.
The Margrave was seventy yards away and beginning to feel safe when the explosion came.
* * *
In his desire to destroy the source of the Artefacts and his thirst for revenge on King Bester, Luther Brachis had indulged in massive overkill. Everything within a hundred yards of the Needler lab was vaporized. A vast crater formed in the outer layers of Delmarva Town.
No trace of the Margrave was ever found. But in his family’s religion it was taught that the reward for a life well-lived was the separation of body and soul. Upon a true believer’s death, the spiritual essence was released from all corporeal bonds. The body’s component atoms would then be free to ride the swirling winds of Earth, in their endless flight about the turning globe.
The founders of Fujitsu’s ancient religion, had they been around to observe the manner of his death, would have judged that fate had granted him his fondest wish.
The Margrave, had he been around to do so, would have disagreed most strongly.
Chapter 13
On the good days, Tatty could not resist reaching out to Chan and hugging him. He might have the body of a grown man, agile and powerful, but inside he was a little boy. And like a little boy, he was proud of any new thing that he could do and eager to show it off to Tatty.
But then there were the bad days. Chan would say nothing, cooperate in nothing, was interested in nothing. Tatty wanted to reach out and shake him until he was forced to take notice.
This was a bad day. One of the worst. Tatty told herself to keep calm. She could not afford to lose control—not with another Stimulator session due in an hour. She had to be mentally ready then to comfort Chan and ease him through the time of agony and misery. But for the moment . . .
“Chan! I won’t warn you again. You concentrate, and you look at that display. See? That’s Earth. You were born on Earth. So was I. These are pictures of parts of Earth. Chan! Stop gawping—look at the display.”
Chan stared vacantly at the three-dimensional display for a second or two, then began to study the fine hair that grew on his forearm and wrist. Tatty swore to herself—cussing aloud to Chan was strictly forbidden—and slammed down the button that advanced the presentation. Useful or not, they had to work their way through the whole program.
Not one word going in. Tatty had schooled herself to keep her comments internal. It’s all too abstract for him. Whose stupid idea was it to give him astronomy lessons when he can’t even pi
ck out the letters of the alphabet? He’s supposed to absorb at an unconscious level, is he? Sure—some hopes! He isn’t a bit interested in the lessons and he never remembers them. Waste of time—his time, my time . . . but what else is there for me to do, stuck out here? I should be on Earth . . . if only I could get away from this awful place. Oh, God, Earth—there it is. Just look at those beautiful pictures. Seas and skies and rivers and forests and cities. If only I were there now, back in my apartment, just me and . . . if Esro Mondrian were here I would kill him . . . heartless, treacherous, monstrous, ruthless . . .
The lesson went on, independent of Tatty’s misery and Chan’s indifference. The display toured the whole solar system, bit by bit, in gorgeous, three-dimensional images. Tatty might see Horus as the worst rat-hole of the solar system, but the training equipment was first-rate. The displays moved viewers into them, to see, hear, and sense everything as though they were present at each location. Chan and Tatty floated together down to the surface of Venus. The dense atmosphere around them burned and corroded, and every boulder and jutting rock shimmered in the intense heat. Somehow, the closed surface domes supported their four hundred million people.
Onward, inward, inside the orbit of Mercury, all the way to the Vulcan Nexus and beyond: the solar photosphere flamed and erupted in savage storms of light. Close enough to touch. Tatty shrank back in real fear, although she knew it was no more than a display. Chan stared at it—at everything—impassively.
Onward, outward, carried past Earth to the thriving Mars colonies. There was a sense of enormous excitement here. Zero hour was only a few years away—the magic moment when sufficient volatiles would have been shipped in through an outsized Mattin Link system and a human could survive on the surface without the use of breathing equipment. Already the atmosphere was almost as dense as on the top of Mount Everest. Defying basic biology, daredevil young people ventured out onto the surface every day, without oxygen or air pumps. They were brought back—the lucky ones—unconscious and suffering from extreme anoxia.
The Mind Pool Page 13
