The easiest way to avoid that pain was to retreat from it, to hide in mindlessness. He gazed far out, looking beyond the starscape for the edge of the universe. He was exhausted, and after a few more minutes his eyes closed.
Seven hours later he awoke in his own bed. He was still exhausted and empty-headed, and he could not say where he had been or what he had done. His last memory was of Tatty, staring with her in the mirror at the reflection of her evening gown.
Chan did not have the energy or resolve to rise from his bed. He was still there when Tatty came to him. She was wearing the same white dress, stained now with dried blood.
She was not sure, but she had to talk to Chan. He looked at her pellet-riddled arm and listened in horror. He was ready to believe her worst worries and suspicions.
It was just as he had feared. He was a monster. Before Tatty even finished talking, Chan had decided what he must do.
Chapter 18
“Who dared to give such an order?” Mondrian’s voice was weak in volume but strong in authority. “Were you insane enough to do it yourself, without thinking of the consequences?”
The technician standing by the bedside recoiled and looked at Tatty for support. She stepped forward.
“I gave the directive,” she said. “These people were only following orders.”
Mondrian had been trying to sit up. Now he sank back on the pillow. “You? You have no authority here. Why would people even listen to you?”
“No problem. I gave the orders in writing, and I used the seat of your own office.” Tatty sat down on the edge of the bed. “If you expect me to say I’m sorry, forget it. And if you claim I did the wrong thing, I’ll have you sent back for more scans of your head.”
The medical technician stared at her in horror, then up to the ceiling as though expecting a lightning bolt.
“Don’t fret and fume, Esro,” went on Tatty calmly. “The medical opinions were unanimous. You could have died. Your chances of full recovery went up dramatically if you remained in bed and under full sedation for a week. So that’s what I authorized. The week’s up, and you’re doing well.”
Mondrian shook his head, then gasped at the pain it produced. “A week! My God Tatty, you make me unconscious for a whole week, and act as though it’s nothing. In a week the whole system could go to hell.”
“It could. But it didn’t. Commander Brachis took care of everything in your absence.”
“Brachis! You think that’s going to make me feel better?” Mondrian made another attempt to sit upright. “He had a free hand to do what he liked with my operations and my staff, and you encouraged it?”
“Correct. He knew you would be worried by that, and he told me to give you a message. He assumes that the arrangement is on that you talked about before the attempt to kill you, and he will try to gain the ear of Ambassador MacDougal as you suggested. His main worry is that you won’t remember anything about the conversation. The doctors warned of amnesia.”
“I remember everything. Too much!” Mondrian put his hand to a forehead still coated with synthetic skin. “How did he escape injury? I know he was shielding you and Godiva.”
“He was injured, too. But his wounds could all be treated with local anesthetics. He refused painkillers, said they’d blur his mind. He must be made of iron.”
“Iron and ice. Or he used to be. Now he’s besotted with Godiva. I don’t know what he’s like any more. How is she?”
“Calm as ever. Didn’t get a scratch. Don’t ask me how—everybody else was peppered with metal fragments.” Tatty adjusted the line of the bandage around Mondrian’s head. “You know the Godiva Bird, she just floats over everything and comes out fine.”
Mondrian leaned hack on his pillow under pressure from Tatty’s hand. “You didn’t detect any changes in her, then—before the bomb went off?”
“Before the bomb?” Tatty frowned down at him.
“Yes. I’m a bit fuzzy about those final few minutes, but something certainly seemed odd about her. You knew Godiva better than I did down on Earth, and you were very surprised when she came up here with Luther Brachis. So I wondered, when you were with her before dinner and Brachis and I were talking, if she seemed . . . well, different at all.”
Tatty sat thoughtful, while Mondrian lay back and stared at her through half-open eyes.
“I think I know what you mean,” she said at last. “She looks the same, and mostly she acts the same, but there’s at least one difference. Whenever I met Godiva down on Earth she was always very conscious of money. Not stingy, exactly, but she talked all the time about her need to earn more. She must have had a fortune stashed away somewhere, because she was the highest-priced escort on the planet and yet she always lived cheaply—simple food, simple clothes. She couldn’t have been spending anywhere near her income, and still she always seemed to want more. The other night, though, she never mentioned money for a moment. That’s a change, if anything is.”
“I agree. And here’s something for you to think about. According to Luther Brachis, Godiva didn’t have a cent when he brought her up from Earth—no money, no possessions other than her clothes.” Mondrian turned to the medical technician, who had been listening with open interest. “Don’t you have any other patients? How soon can I get out of here?”
“Two more days. And visitors have to be restricted to one hour a day.”
“That won’t do.” Mondrian pushed back the covers and swung his legs out of bed. “I have work to do. Bring me my uniform—at once.”
The technician looked to Tatty, found no encouragement there, and shook his head. “I am sorry, sir. I lack the authority to release you.”
“Fine. Go get somebody who does.”
As the technician scurried away Mondrian turned back to Tatty. “I suppose I’m going to have a fight with you, too.”
“Not at all.” As Mondrian rose from the bed, Tatty’s manner changed. She smiled coldly at him. “I looked after you when you were too sick to make your own decisions. I’d do the same for anyone. Now you are clearly getting better, and you can go to hell in your own fashion. I’m leaving Ceres. I already have my exit approval.”
“Using my office seal? Where are you going.”
“Home. Back to Earth. I’ve had all I can stand of Horus and Ceres.” Tatty stood up. “I suppose you ought to thank me for looking after you while you were unconscious, but I know better than to expect that. Anyway, it’s not appropriate. It was all my fault in the first place.”
“The bombing? What are you talking about?”
“That’s the other reason I wanted to be here when you woke up—to tell you that I was responsible for the attempt to assassinate you.”
“Tatty, you’re out of your mind. You didn’t do the bombing any more than I did. We were both victims of it. You were injured, too—I can see the scars still on your arm.”
“I didn’t do the bombing—but I caused it to be done.”
Mondrian reached out to take Tatty’s arm, pulling her back to the bedside. His grip was much stronger than she expected.
“Princess, you can’t make a wild statement like that and say nothing more. Are you saying you arranged for that bomb?”
“No.”
“So what are you saying? That you know who tried to kill us?”
“No one tried to kill us. It was Chan Dalton, and he tried to kill you. The rest of us just happened to be there.”
“Tatty, you’re gibbering. What are you getting at?”
She hesitated and evaded, but under constant prodding from Mondrian she told the whole story; of the long days on Horus, of her loneliness, of her growing despair with Chan and hatred for Mondrian; finally, of her use of Mondrian’s picture as an object for Chan to hate.
Mondrian listened quietly and sympathetically. At the conclusion he sprawled full-length on the bed and shook his head.
“Wrong, Princess. Totally wrong.”
“Prove it.”
“I can’t—but I’ll wage
r on it. Look at a few facts. First, whoever that waiter was, he wasn’t Chan Dalton.”
“He wasn’t a real waiter. At the restaurant they don’t know who he was.”
“Well, he was certainly dressed like the waiters at that restaurant. But waiter or not, my point is that he wasn’t Chan. Which means that Chan would have had to bribe him. Now, did you tell Chan beforehand where we were going to have dinner?”
“No. He didn’t know in advance—he says he just mindlessly followed us there.”
“So you’re telling me that Chan, who didn’t know where we were going, could in just a few minutes persuade a man dressed like a waiter to deliver a bomb to our table. That sort of thing requires careful preparation and planning. Where would Chan even find a bomb? He’s a recent arrival on Ceres, and he hardly knows anyone. He may look like a twenty-year-old, but in terms of adult contact with the world he’s only a few weeks old.”
“He’s a super-fast learner now.”
“It makes no difference. Chan is a newcomer here. No matter how intelligent he is, he couldn’t get the materials and the knowledge in such a short time. You say Chan doesn’t remember what he was doing at the time of the bombing. I’ll accept that. His brains still sorting itself out inside his head. But amnesia isn’t a crime. I don’t believe that he had anything at all to do with the explosion.” Mondrian sat up and stared at Tatty. “Give me ten minutes to talk to him, and I guarantee that I can prove he had nothing to do with it—prove it to your satisfaction as well as mine.”
“I can’t.” Tatty looked stricken. “Can’t bring him to you, I mean.”
“Why not?”
“He’s not here any more—not on Ceres.”
“Of course he is. You just have to track him down.”
“No. You don’t understand. When Chan told me about his blackout, I told him what happened at the restaurant. We talked, and we agreed. He must have done the bombing, without having control of his actions. He didn’t know what to do. So I helped him—helped him to escape.”
“But he couldn’t possibly get away from here. For one thing, he’d need a travel permit.”
“Esro, you still don’t understand. He already had a travel permit.”
“Who was insane enough to issue one to him? I’ll have their carcass.”
“You were insane enough. Remember, you issued it in advance, so it would be ready when he went off for pursuit team training and you would collect on your bet with Luther Brachis as soon as possible. All I did was ask Captain Flammarion to give Chan the rest of his tests at once. He passed them all, easily. He was ready for the next phase.”
“So where is he?”
“He’s on Barchan. As you planned. Ready to start pursuit team training.”
* * *
Tatty’s statement was not quite correct. Chan was certainly in pursuit team training, but he was not actually on Barchan. When Tatty spoke those words he was flying four thousand meters above the planet’s surface in a Security aircar, receiving his final lesson on its operation and handling.
“Don’t you forget now,” said the pilot cheerfully. “Once you drop me off you’re on your own. No collections, no deliveries, you pick your own nose and do your own laundry. And don’t bother to send a message unless you’ve destroyed the ‘Fact—or given up trying.”
She laughed, as though her last suggestion was out of the question. The pilot was small and tubby, with sleepy-looking brown eyes. When she was at the controls the car seemed to glide effortlessly through the buffeting winds of Barchan. Only when Chan took over himself did he learn that Barchan’s air currents were strong and unpredictable. Level flight called for constant attention, and landing and take-off on the desert planet was always dangerous.
Chan dipped the car’s nose and started to drop off height. At a thousand meters he began to circle, making his visual search for their landing target. The updrafts were stronger here, and it took all his efforts to maintain a constant altitude.
“Has anyone ever done that?” he said. “I mean, just given up trying to destroy a Simulation of the Construct, and asked to be taken back?”
“You better believe it.” The pilot chuckled and slouched back in her seat, but her eyes missed nothing and her hands were never more than a couple of inches away from the duplicate set of controls.
“You’re the fifth pursuit team training group we’ve had in here,” she went on. “And so far we’ve had just one that graduated.”
“What happened to the others?”
“Bunches of stuff. Funny thing is, the first group that we had went dead smooth. I dropped the four of them off at the training camp, one at a time. Human, Pipe-Rilla, Tinker, Angel. They found they could work together, no problem. They organized the search for the ‘Fact, found it in three days, and destroyed it. End of story, still no problem. They linked off to Dembricot for their final preparations, and last I heard they were heading off to tackle the real thing, the Construct itself.”
“That was Leah Rainbow’s team?” Chan had spotted the landing area, and he was lining up for final approach.
“Know her, do you? It sure was. Smart woman, that. Anyway, the first one went so smooth I thought all the rest would be the same and we’d slide right through like Angel sap. Was I wrong!
“Second team came in, I dropped ‘em off. Didn’t hear a squeak for a week, then the Pipe-Rilla called me, solo. Asked to be picked up, she was leaving the team. No explanation. That team’s still waiting for another Pipe-Rilla to replace the first one.
“Team Three—your alignment’s fine, by the way, but you’ll land a lot smoother if you drop the speed another couple of points. That’s it. Spot on, and hold it there. Anyway, Team Three arrived all right, seemed to get on well together. They searched around and found their ‘Fact. But they didn’t get it. It got them.”
“It killed them?”
“Hell, no.” The pilot leaned back and closed her eyes all the way. The car touched down, light as a feather. “A ‘Fact won’t actually kill a team—they were designed not to. But it can give you a pretty bad time. This one roughed ‘em up so bad, they decided they’d had it with being a Pursuit Team. They split up. I picked ‘em up one by one, and they all went home. So there we were, one out of three.”
The pilot glanced out of the window and nodded approvingly. They had come to rest at the exact center of the landing circle. “Want to hear about Team Four?”
“Of course. Maybe I can learn by their experience.”
“They were the worst of all. They got themselves organized, searched for their ‘Fact, found it, and were all ready to blow it to bits. Well, that’s when the Pipe-Rilla decided it couldn’t go through with it. Couldn’t stand the idea of killing something, even if it was only an Artefact.”
“So they had to quit?”
“Not quite. The human on the team—big fat blond feller, looked like he’d not harm a fly—got so mad with the Pipe-Rilla, wasting all his time, he was all set to blow her full of holes in place of the ‘Fact. Might have done it, too, if the Tinker hadn’t swarmed him.
“I got ‘em all out in one piece, but the whole thing convinced the other Stellar Groups—again!—that humans are crazy killers. And if you think that didn’t create an interstellar incident and make things worse here . . .”
She opened the door of the car. A wave of dry heat like dragon’s breath wafted into the cabin. “Phew! Welcome to sunny Barchan. This car’s all yours now, until you get your ‘Fact. Good hunting.”
As she started onto the steps Chan leaned out after her. “You’ve seen them all. What do you think our chances are?”
The pilot paused with the door half-closed, and the car’s air conditioner went into overdrive. “Your chances? Well, if you believe it’s a random process, past history says you’re one in four. But I don’t believe it’s that random. Mind if I ask you a question?”
“I’ve been asking you plenty.”
“Well, I’ve looked you over pretty hard these pa
st few days. You don’t fit this job, not at all. With your face and body, you’re an entertainment natural—public, or one-on-one. There’s fifty billion women would like a piece of you. So how come you’re on a Pursuit Team, out here at the ass-end of the universe?”
Chan hesitated. Had Leah talked about him, so the pilot was just prodding for more details? The waves of arid heat coming in through the open door produced floods of sweat on his face and neck that dried the moment they appeared, but the pilot seemed oblivious to outside conditions. She was waiting patiently, and her face gave him no clues. He decided that her question reflected no more than a genuine interest.
“I was born on Earth. I was a commoner, with a contract. This gave me a way out, and when it’s over I’ll be free to do as I like.”
It was close to the truth, and the pilot was nodding sympathetically. “Ah, I’ve heard about Earth. Everything’s relative. Maybe after that, Barchan don’t seem so much like the ass-end of the universe. I know that Leah Rainbow seemed pleased enough to be here. Did you get recruited the same way she did?”
“Pretty much. We were both recruited by Commander Mondrian.”
“Good enough. You’ve answered my questions, now I’ll answer yours. I’ll up your odds of success from one in four to fifty-fifty. Mondrian’s as hard as Tinker-shit and cold as Angel-heart, but he’s one sharp son of a bitch. And he don’t pick losers.” She swung the door closed and grinned at him through the window. “I mean, usually,” she shouted. “But there’s exceptions to everything. Fifty-fifty! Good luck!”
She gave him a wave and set off for the cluster of service buildings. Chan sat quietly in the car, inspecting the landscape around him. They were in Barchan’s low polar regions, where winter temperature would allow a human to survive without a suit except around noon. The vegetation, such as it was, was deep-rooted and covered in waxy blue-green foliage. At the pole itself it would grow in Barchan’s half-g surface gravity to fifty meters or more; here it sat low to the ground, tight-wrapped to conserve moisture. The soil beneath the plants was dry, dark, and basaltic, rising in slow, brooding folds away from the landing area. Gusty surface winds lifted the top layer of soil up and about the parked aircar in twisting dust-devils of dark grey. Near the equator that sand layer was hundreds of feet deep. The constant winds blew it into the miles-long crescent-shaped barchan dunes that gave the planet its name.
The Mind Pool Page 19
