“To hunt the biggest game. Scorpions and crustaceans, mostly. They can operate under water, but luckily for me they were never designed to handle a rainstorm.”
“But the real question isn’t the minisims. It’s who was handling them. Did you ask?”
“Adestis Headquarters can’t tell me that, either.” Brachis touched his finger tenderly to the biggest wound on his face, a one-centimeter crater in the middle of his left cheek. “But I know the answer without being told. It’s that bastard’s Artefacts again, it has to be.”
Mondrian was studying Brachis’s pitted and furrowed skin. “Someday, Luther, you must tell me just what you did to earn such undying enmity from Fujitsu that his heirs would try to give you more craters than the surface of Callisto.”
“Never mind what I did. The worst thing I did was, I underestimated him. For that, I deserve everything I’ve been getting.”
“You told me that you had everything locked up tight here in the apartment, so nobody and nothing could get in. What went wrong, Luther?”
“The oldest mistake in the world. It proves the point that I tell every trainee for Survey basic training: It’s the things you don’t expect that get you. I set up this apartment so that nothing could get in through the door without me knowing. Nothing can burrow through the walls or floors or ceilings. I put in a sniffer system to sound an alarm if anything poisonous or radioactive was blown in as gas or dust through the air supply ducts. What I didn’t expect was that something smart and dangerous could actually walk in along the ducts. The openings are only a couple of centimeters across.”
“Big enough.” Mondrian glanced from the simulacrum he was holding to the other man’s battered body. “I’m amazed to see how much firepower one of these things can carry. Surely you don’t need to hit that hard, even for scorpions.”
“They were carrying the absolute top of the weapons line. It took two minisims to handle some of the guns. That’s the sort of equipment that Adestis normally gives only to a group that they judge to be inexperienced and scared shitless. One shell from the big guns would do for a scorpion. It damned near did for me.”
“Last time we met you told me you thought you had located and destroyed every Artefact that the Margrave left. Obviously, you were wrong.” Mondrian nodded his head to the heavy apartment door and its protective locks. “But if you thought you’d got them all, why did you bother with such an elaborate security system?”
“My guardian angel insisted.” Brachis pointed an index finger, its nail half blown away, at the near-nude Godiva. “You’re right, I thought I’d killed the lot. Now I have to start over.”
During the first few frantic minutes, Godiva had been totally absorbed in her work on Luther. She was still wearing only her thin panties and had not thought to put on more clothing. Her only worry was to patch new skin, carefully and completely, onto every one of his wounds. She had not seemed to notice the arrival of Esro Mondrian. But now, directly introduced into the conversation, she seemed to become aware of her own near-nude condition. She applied a final patch to Luther’s shoulder, stooped to kiss him quickly on the lips, and headed for the bathroom. “Ten minutes,” she said. “To put on a robe and dry my hair. Please don’t let him get into more trouble while I’m gone, Esro.”
Her departure created a gap in the conversation of the two men. Brachis, tough as he was, felt drained and distant. With Mondrian silent, he began to think again of the Artefacts. How many more were there? How could he hide from them, how could he destroy them?
His mind drifted back to the silent surface of Hyperion. As soon as he had arranged for delivery of the volatiles, the seven items had been delivered to him as promised from storage. The crew who brought them returned at once to the Deep Vault. They did not look back. They had no interest in knowing—or perhaps they suspected only too well—what Brachis intended to do with his purchase.
The logical thing was to flashfire the seven containers at once and leave the airless surface of Saturn’s moon with minimal delay. Only some dreadful driving streak of curiosity forced Brachis to open them, and thaw the contents.
The first four varied in appearance, but they were recognizably in the image of the Margrave. Brachis fired them at once. Two more were younger, clean-shaven, and fatter. It took the DNA match to prove that they too derived directly from Fujitsu. When the eight million degree flame passed over them, they too were gone in an eyeblink flash of purple light.
It was the seventh and final box, where identification in the Deep Vault had been the poorest, that would linger forever in Luther’s memory. The casket held a young girl in her early teens. Naked, clear-skinned, and fair of face, she was barely past puberty. Her countenance still had the purity and innocence of a child, but when those young breasts and slender hips matured into womanhood she would be like a younger Godiva Lomberd.
The container gave her complete identification, along with her DNA sequence. It differed from the Fujitsu line in every significant detail. She was the oldest daughter of a deposed royal, from a bend sinister line that was now long extinct. Whoever had committed her to the Deep Vault of Hyperion had purchased, for whatever reason, a perpetual endowment of the highest quality. For four hundred and forty years she had lain in frozen silence, dreaming of whatever phantom shadows might flee through a brain held at the temperature of liquid helium. Left now on the surface, she would die—or, worse yet, waken and die—on the barren, airless wilderness of Hyperion.
Brachis had made no contingent plans for his purchases from the Deep Vault. Even if he were desperate to do so, it was impossible to save her. He groaned, cursed, and stared around him at the black-shadowed plain. It taunted him, with its emptiness and uselessness. At last he shuddered in his suit, breathed deep, and raised the fusion torch. Subnuclear fire reached out to caress the pale young body. As it consumed her bare breast, Brachis fancied that she sighed, opened dark-blue eyes, and stared up at his face . . .
“Luther!” Mondrian was leaning over him, snapping his fingers in front of his face. “Come on, pull out of that. I think we have to let the medics take a look at you, even if you don’t want it. Just how much blood did you lose in there? The water could have sluiced a couple of liters down the drain and we’d never know it.”
“I’ll be all right.” Brachis struggled to a sitting position. “But I’m wondering where we go from here. Just think what would have happened if Godiva had come with me into the study, instead of heading for the bathroom. She doesn’t have any of our training in survival. I don’t think I could have saved her. But I know I would have tried, and that would have been the end of both of us.”
“Want to send her back to Earth for a while, until we’re sure the Fujitsu Artefacts have been taken care of once and for all?”
“She won’t go. We’ve been through all that, half a dozen times. Anyway, I’m not sure that Earth would be safe. If our contract is known there, they could go through her to get to me.” Brachis rubbed at the thickened synthetic skin on the back of his right hand. That hand was still regrowing, and the delicate real skin was beginning to itch furiously as the chemical bond of the newly applied synthetic became complete. “It’s an impossible problem. She won’t leave me, and I can’t protect her. The next hit could come from anywhere. Poisoned food, assassins, sabotaged transport equipment, faulty airlocks, anything.”
“As you said once before, Luther, you found yourself a genius. Fujitsu has been two steps ahead all the way. But I have a suggestion for you.”
“No hidden agendas, Esro.” Brachis spoke wearily, as Godiva appeared from the bathroom. “I’m not up to them at the moment. Just tell me how we are going to make her safe.”
Godiva had dried her blond hair and restyled it to an ancient form, so that it hung over her forehead and partly hid one eye. She drifted across to Brachis, inspected his wounds, and nodded in satisfaction. She sat down at his side without a word. Her short tunic left arms and legs bare, and her skin glowed from a vigorous towe
ling.
Mondrian studied the two of them closely. He was sure that he was missing something about their relationship, but in spite of all his efforts he could not begin to guess what.
“We all have hidden agendas, Luther. But this time I think that you and I have common interests.”
“Persuade me.”
Mondrian nodded in acknowledgement. It was one of his own favorite lines. “I’ll try. Let’s start with a question: What would be the safest place in the universe for you and Godiva? Not just the safest place in the solar system, but the safest place within the entire Perimeter.”
“I don’t know. Not here, that’s for sure, no matter how much protection we pile on for us.”
“And certainly not down on Earth, for either one of you. I agree with you, if Fujitsu’s Artefacts are there they might try next for Godiva. But there’s one place that even the Margrave won’t be able to get to: the Q-ship, in orbit around Travancore. The Link coordinates to that are known only to three people in the universe: you, me, and Kubo Flammarion.”
“It should be safe enough, I’ll buy that.” Brachis was visibly weakening, while Godiva was frowning at Mondrian. “But we’ve got the blockade in position, which means once you go there you can’t come back. It would mean a one-way trip until a pursuit team finishes off the Construct. Suppose that takes years? Go to Travancore, and you could he stuck on the Q-ship until you die of boredom.”
“There are worse fates.” Mondrian surveyed the other man’s battered body. “Stay here, and it’s certainly not boredom you’ll be dying of. In any case, I don’t think the action on Travancore will take long, otherwise I wouldn’t be going out there myself. My original plan was to take Captain Flammarion with me, while you stayed in charge at Anabasis Headquarters. But after what just happened here, it makes sense to switch that, and leave Kubo on Ceres. I assume you trust him?”
“He’s your man, and that won’t change. Other than that, he’s a rock. But I’m a devil of a lot better in a crisis.”
“Which we certainly have at Travancore. But Kubo can stay here, give information to nobody, and send us anything that we need through the Link.”
“What about Godiva?”
“Whatever you like. With you out of the way, I don’t really think she’ll be in danger anywhere.”
“It makes no difference.” Godiva spoke for the first time since her return. “Where Luther goes, I go.”
“And I won’t go without you.” Brachis tried to smile, and produced only a pained grimace as the artificial skin on his face stretched in unfamiliar directions. “All right, so we both go. And the sooner the better. I’m tired of being chipped away, bit by bit.”
“Very good.” Mondrian stood up. “I will notify Captain Flammarion. We’ll leave as soon as you are physically able to do so.”
“I’m able now. I was planning another trip out to the Sargasso Dump, but that can wait awhile. We’ll be ready tomorrow morning.”
“I won’t approve that. You will not be sufficiently recovered.”
“Esro, you don’t need to approve. You seem to forget, you don’t outrank me any more in the Anabasis.”
“Don’t think I am unaware of that. Sometime you must tell me what you promised Lotos, to work that deal. But for the moment”—Mondrian stared at Brachis, and saw new pallor around his eyes;—“Godiva, he needs a doctor even if he doesn’t want one. Luther, if you tried to stand up you would fall over.”
“Would I? Just watch me, then.” Brachis swayed to his feet, shaking his head when Godiva tried to help him. “No doctors.” He hobbled away to the bathroom. “Tomorrow morning, Esro. We’ll be ready.”
Godiva sighed, and sat down again opposite Mondrian. “Stubborn! But what happened to you, Esro? You look nearly as bad as Luther.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are not.” She leaned close and peered into his eyes. “Are you taking Tatty with you to Travancore?”
“No.” Then Mondrian’s own control failed, and he had to ask the question. “Godiva, what made you suddenly ask about Tatty? I didn’t even mention her name.”
“I know. You didn’t need to.” Godiva gave him a satisfied smile. “Esro, if I understand anything in the whole universe, it’s men’s emotions. Luther couldn’t see it, but I can. You’re radiating misery. Have you two been fighting?”
“That’s too dignified a word for it.” He smiled, but his eyes were bleak. “There was no fight. We were down in her apartment on Earth, and I wanted her to come back to Ceres with me. She said no. Then she dumped me, simple as that. She says she never wants to see me again, after what I did to her.”
Godiva took Mondrian’s hands in hers. He felt a flow like electricity along his forearms—a tingle that Tatty said could be felt only by men, and had termed “The Godiva Effect.”
“I’m sorry, Esro.” Godiva squeezed his hands. “Maybe she’ll change her mind. I’ll talk to her. But right now I’d better go and see what’s keeping Luther. I think he needs more help than he’ll admit.
She stood up and went across to the bathroom without looking again at Mondrian. Decency demanded that such pain and misery be permitted at least privacy.”
Chapter 34
Pulling information out of Vayvay was almost impossible. The Coromar seemed to have only two interests in life: finding food, and eating it. Chan had sat in on three weary hours of Angel’s careful questioning and re-questioning, then he had given up. He lacked Angel’s infinite patience. He wandered out to the lip of the tent, where S’greela and Shikari were basking in the mid-morning sunlight.
“How can Angel stand it?” he said. “Every question has to be repeated ten times, and still there’s nothing to show at the end.”
“Talking to Vayvay?” S’greela nudged Shikari with one hind-limb. As usual, the Tinker was trying to creep up into a lumpy heap around their legs. “I admit, Vayvay is not easily mistaken for a genius. In fact, I myself asked Angel the same question, how was it possible to be so patient with such an idiot?”
“But Angel did not answer you.”
“Indeed, yes. Angel indicated that communication with humans provided a sufficient base of prior experience.”
Chan glared, and decided not to react. He had noticed a strange phenomenon. S’greela, and even Angel, seemed to be picking up the Tinker’s perverse sense of humor. In fact, they were all beginning to sound more and more like each other. It was harder all the time to tell who made a remark simply from its content, or the way in which it was phrased. Was he starting to sound like the rest of them, too?
Chan thought not. In some ways, he was the outsider of the group. When he had rushed back yesterday to tell them what had happened to him in the tunnels, they had listened quietly enough; but he knew that they rejected what he said, almost without considering it.
That idea was full of disturbing possibilities. Angel insisted that the Construct had not moved from its original putative location, far from them. And Mondrian had told Chan that Nimrod’s powers for mental disturbance were short-range. Close contact would be needed for it to have any effect. So if Chan’s bewildering encounter had not been with Nimrod, there was only one other clear possibility: he was going crazy.
Chan had other evidence for that. After his arrival back at the camp the previous night, he had almost no memory of the rest of the evening. He recalled sitting in a close, compact group, listening to Angel talk to the Coromar. And that was all that he remembered, until he had awakened today under the outspread mantle of the Tinker Composite.
Suppose that fears and confusion were affecting his judgement? Then he had to discover the source of those delusions, before he put the others in danger. And that urgency made him want to proceed too fast with the hunt for Nimrod. Festina lente—hasten slowly. But it was hard to do, when the others were so in favor of rapid action.
This moming they were raring to go. Angel was now sure that the task of stalking Nimrod through Travancore’s vertical forest could be simplified.
“There is, as you conjectured, a grid of horizontal tunnels.” Angel had finally emerged from the long dialogue with Vayvay. “It becomes denser and more continuous, down close to the true surface of the planet. But it is not so well maintained as the tunnels higher up. The Coromar look after the high tunnels much better, because they are their primary feeding grounds. However, the lower network will be adequate for our needs. We can use it to move close to Nimrod, and still minimize the chance of our detection.”
“It would be quicker and easier to come straight down from above,” objected S’greela.
“Easier, but not safer,” said Chan. “Nimrod will sense our presence if we try to move straight down through the vegetation. But the surface of the planet may confuse the return signal for the Construct’s sensors. We’ll use the horizontal tunnels. Is Vayvay willing to lead the way?”
“That is not clear.” Angel turned to the Coromar, who was slowly emerging from inside the tent. A few more seconds of squeaks produced a shake of Angel’s topmost fronds, and a human-sounding sigh. “Why even ask? The answer could have been predicted. Vayvay will take us to within a safe distance from Nimrod, provided that we guarantee plenty of food as payment. Vayvay asks, how close to Nimrod do we wish to approach?”
Chan thought about that, as the three others waited impatiently. “I really don’t know. For all I can say—and my experience yesterday supports it—Nimrod could be aware of us all the time. How else do you explain what happened to me down in the shaft?”
There was a non-committal silence, while Chan began to feel annoyed all over again. The others were being diplomatic, but still they didn’t believe him. When he had filed his report on the incident and sent it back to the Q-ship, the three of them had been annoyingly passive. They did not comment on or add to what he had sent—and that was unusual in such an opinionated group.
“All right.” Chan turned again to Angel. “Let’s take the problem from the other end. How close is Vayvay willing to approach to Nimrod?”
The Mind Pool Page 35
