“Here’s the smell of the blood still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!” muttered Lady Macbeth.
Duncan? Had that been his name? No, of course not. Absurd.
Blinking bloodshot eyes at the 3-D, he scowled and slammed the remote off switch. The images wavered away like phantoms.
All my Banquo’s have returned to the banquet table thought Philip Amber. And how they stare. How they point and accuse!
“No!” he screamed, throwing his bottle against the wall. It crashed into liquid shards. The spirits flowed like blood onto the rug.
You will pay, whispered a breathy voice in his ear. Hell begins now. Amber.
Moaning piteously, he wrapped his arms over his ears and fell to the floor, rocking. Would the woman never stop haunting him? Who was she, anyway? What was happening to him? All his sins against others, all his misdeeds against himself, he remembered now, in total gory, tortuous detail.
The women and children on Fortunata - the tanks had ground them under like grass beneath the hungry treads.
The countless hits ... soullessly executed by a zombie of a human.
The blood, the death, the screams ... oh God, the screams! They echoed now ceaselessly, unable to escape the bottomless pit of his skull!
He thunked his head against the floor repeatedly, as though to drive these taunting, screaming demon thoughts from their possession of his mind. Depart from me. Vamoose! In God’s name, go!
But their names were Legion, and they had come home to roost at last like cawing ravens, digging into his nerves with sharp talons.
He fell to the floor, his body quivering, half-conscious, wishing what was left of that would vanish as well.
Maybe forever.
Suicide’! He propped himself up on one elbow and raked the clumps of wet hair back from his eyes. Could he stop this torture by killing himself? Tossing himself from this precipice of tortuous life into the black chasm of oblivion, easeful death?
Death. The bottom line. The endless end, ceaseless darkness.
So well served by Philip Amber, should it claim him? Should he give in?
In this depth of despair, Amber rallied. No-he was a survivor. If people tended to die around him, why should he follow their example? With modern longevity treatments, he didn’t have to die for years, yet. Centuries.
Besides, man, he told himself. You take too many pills, you do anything, and the folks on this ship are likely to resurrect you, quick. It was doubtful that in a contained paradise they wanted that sort of bad publicity,
Immediately the pain retreated, hovering at the fringes of awareness—still there, peeping at him with baleful eyes, still hurting, but not unbearably so.
It allowed him time to think.
He staggered up uncertainly and sat in the vibro-chair. The massage motors immediately set to work calming his muscles. God, but I must look a mess, he thought to himself. He closed his eyes and thought.
What could have brought on the sudden guilt trip? Surely not anything perpetrated by Star Fall devices or personnel ... why should they want to zero in on him that way. They didn’t even know who he truly was.
It must be this damned body, then.
This fat, ugly body ... could, somehow, a trace of personality be left in the flesh, the ganglia, the bone structure? Was it possible that the body was trying to reject the brain—was there that sort of dichotomy? Amber had never heard of it happening before ... never experienced it in all the various bodies he’d worn.
What was the difference about this one, then? Did it retain some kind of residual memory from that clod who’d previously inhabited it and now was loose in his Mark Twelve?
There was but one thing to do. Head up to the Medical Section of this behemoth ship and get a check-up. He’d maybe have to risk a psych-check, but it would be worth it, to drive the guilt and irrational torturing memories from his head.
He pushed himself from the chair groggily, took a quick molecular shower in the small booth provided him and freshened his clothes up in the compartment of the dresser provided for that laundry task. Then he donned them and palmed the magnetic key.
He left the room.
He considered calling up the ever-helpful little buzz-unit to guide him to the Med/Sec, but decided instead to rely on casual help along the way. He didn’t want to call undue attention to himself ... at this or any stage of this game.
At a computer console just beyond the gardens, he punched up a map and asked for a print-out guide. The machine rapidly obliged, coughing up a very long piece of sheet plastic with detailed directions. He studied this with some perplexity. Diagrammed upon the sheet, in great detail, was a schematic of the Star Fall—in shifting optical perspective. Evidently things did not stay static in some portions of the system. The separate worlds were in a kind of constant flux in relationship with one another. Like a geometrical puzzle with the pieces constantly shifting, oiled by the null-grav fields, connected by the transport tubes. How odd. No doubt a feature of the ship’s structure born of Morapn designers’ plans. What could be the possible purpose of being able to shift separate compartments? It seemed hardly worth the trouble. But then, he had never much understood the Morapn civilization. Who did? The Terran civilization had been aware of them barely a century, and that century was fraught with conflict and secrecy between the two great civilizations.
The Star Fall was a gesture, a symbol that, if successful, would lead to other things. It would ply the space ways majestically, bearer of good will to all races along with a cornucopia of pleasures diverse and bizarre, a living working monument to the fusing of all the civilized cultures of settled space.
Philip Foxglove Amber had intended this to be an enjoyable trip; one of the reasons he had accepted the job on Deadrock was to be able to take the maiden voyage of the Star Fall back to his home world.
Then things had turned topsy-turvy.
He consulted his map again broodingly, and proceeded toward the part marked Med/Sec, thoughts roaring in his mind like an angry wind.
* * *
The blood had been scrubbed from his hands. Fastidiously. Not a drop or a smudge remained.
Composing himself into his usual stoicism, he sat in his study, his observation blister. They were on their way. That desolate ball of mud and metal, Deadrock, was now but a brilliant pinprick in the bed of black, edged by the light of receding Nautilus. He punched up a selection on the omnis, and then changed his mind. No. No more Wagner, for now. Some Morapn rock chimes. A twirl of the dial produced an eruption of dissonant clattering from the speakers.
Yearningly, he thought of Morapn a moment ... and then proceeded with his task at hand.
He willed his orgabox to position itself beside the computer-interlock system. The thing scrabbled over obligingly. Two rods and three tubes emerged from just below its compact readout screen, like strange male mechanical genitalia and penetrated the interface holes. Immediately, Ort Eath experienced the surge of renewed energy, the waves of energy blocked only by his mind, ready to pour at his command.
This must be done methodically, with great care lest an important scrap of information slip past his attention.
The recorded contents of that spy’s mind must be reviewed first, distasteful as that process was. To again peer into Tracy’s eyes ... almost too much. But he ordered the images to commence nonetheless.
They flooded through him, leaving afterimages of curious colors on the readout screen of the orgabox. He viewed all that she had seen of the docking of the miner’s ship, the transference of the box containing the antimatter, the death of the miner (which reminded him, he had better have a talk with the Zism back in its homelike environment ... there were several things to discuss with it), the discovery of her by Security, the wild dash that led to the orientation room and smack into the new passengers.
Now that had been unfortunate. It was well that the orientation officers were the clods they were—clever clods. He paid them well. They asked no questions.
He watched, from her viewpoint, as she ran up to that fat passenger and begged for help. He froze the image of the man. Another agent? Unlikely. It might be well to note his activities nonetheless. Quickly Ort Eath recorded the man’s image ... and set it aside for further study.
The tape continued as the security officers pummeled Blicia Ginterton and carted her off. The last, confused image of the shocked passengers staring after. He almost did not notice that tall, straight man in the back of the crowd. Immediately, he halted the flow and magnified the image.
Where had he seen that face before? Or one similar. Yes, of I course. In a black market catalog. It was a MacGuffin, Mark Twelve.
Now why would anyone want to be wearing a battle-body like that on board a pleasure cruise?
Curious, that. He would have to make inquiries, immediately. .
It didn’t do to have one of those on board, particularly with the delicate nature of the voyage, if you weren’t sure of its intent.
No. Pretty ruthless sorts tended to run MacGuffins.
He temporarily disengaged his connection with the computer and called the operative uniquely equipped to handle the matter.
TODD KNEW he could not run forever.
Even with a terrifically powerful body like this one, he’d have to eventually stop, get his bearings, and get some rest.
He needed a place to hide.
He ran down the hall of an accommodation complex. How far behind the security force of two was, he’d no idea, but he didn’t wait to find out. He was barreling down the corridor when the woman walked out from a door. He ran directly into her.
Fortunately, it was only a glancing blow, or he might have done her damage. Instead, he only knocked her down.
She plopped down to the sponge-plastic floor with all the grace of a thrown Raggedy Ann doll. “Oof!” she said, bright green eyes wide with shock and surprise. “Ouch!”
Todd, ever taught to be polite to ladies, was horrified by his gaffe. He stopped in mid-sprint, wheeled back around, and went back to make sure he’d not hurt her. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“Oh, sure. I get off on being run down by tall men, don’t you know,” she said sardonically. “Why do you think I stepped out when I did? Certainly not for my health.” She looked him up and down. “Hey, you got a license to operate that thing?”
How could she know ... ? But looking down at her, sprawled as she was, tangled red hair tossed into her eyes comically, he could see she was only joking. What a joke! “Listen, let me help you up.”
She extended a petite hand and Todd quickly hauled her up in a jerking motion. She shot up like a rocket, nearly sailing over his head. He caught her halfway to the ceiling and bought her down, more easily. Her long skirt flounced airily in his face. She smelled of lavender and femininity. “Wow,” she said. “I think that was worse than being knocked down.”
“I’m sorry but I have to be running along,” he said lamely, casting a wary glance down the hall, not wishing to be impolite, but wanting to renew his retreat all the same.
And a long retreat it had been. A very fast tour of certain areas of the ship with the two security goons on his heels like a couple of overweight bloodhounds. Through alien forests, across catwalks straddling picturesque chasms. Through a gravity vortex, into free fall. Under waterfalls, across city streets. Beneath bridges, up lifts, down escalators. Through a group of human nudists, tripped out on some drug, squirming about on springy cushions.
And not one sign of authority except for these pursuing bozos had he seen all that way. The curious thing was that all his cries for help brought only applause from the passengers. They obviously thought him involved in some strange chase adventure.
The experience more than communicated to Todd the potential for slip-ups with this kind of set-up.
The woman was feeling her snub nose, as though to make sure it was still on tight. “So what’s your hurry? I paid lots of creds to get away from the rat race of Nyark, so I don’t expect something similar here. Why is everyone bustling about?” She waved sleek arms expansively, rustling her black net blouse illuminated with brightly-colored sequined applique wraps, buoyed on grav-tabs discreetly about her breasts—somewhere between modesty and provocative half-nudity. “I was just going out for dinner and my evening stroll— ”
“I’m truly sorry,” said Todd, frantically turning to go. “But I’ve got a couple of guys after me.”
“Chasing you?” She grabbed his sweater sleeve.
“You don’t understand. If they catch me ...”
She wore a friendly, inviting smile. “It’s you that doesn’t understand.” She gestured to her open door. “Why not stop running? You can hide in here.” Flutter of fingers about apple-glossy cheeks. “Oh, my yes. Get in quickly.” She seemed to glow with her idea.
“No, truly, I don’t want to get you involved-“
“I want to get involved.” Her long curling eyelashes blinked up and down in alarm. “I’ve been waiting for something like this my whole trip! Now get in here, or I’ll ask for my money back!”
Wasting no time, Todd hopped in. The woman flowed behind him like air-blown silk. It was dark. Todd turned around as she waved her hand over the closing electro-tab. The door shut with a gush of air. Todd, still moving back, tripped over some obstacle and tumbled onto the couch.
The lights shimmered on like the rising of an iridescent sun.
The woman was suddenly over him, hand to mouth, the other to hip, thinking. “Now. Where can I stash you?”
She scratched her red hair, deep in thought, scanning the room. “Well, no place better than under the bed.”
“Under the bed?”
“Yes, and quickly. There’s a storage compartment for luggage. You ought to be able to fit, if I take out my baggage.”
She walked to a wall and thumbed the bunk open. Todd helped her toss her bags out and stepped in. A close fit. Her hydro-mat did not quite fit all the way down. A long crack remained.
“Here,” she said. “I’ll sling a sheet down.”
She did, stoppering up the light, leaving Todd in darkness beneath the bunk. “There. That should be good. I’d seal up the wall, but I’m afraid you’d suffocate. I— ”
There was a knock on the door.
A pound, actually. Only ham-sized fists could produce reverberations like those.
“Oh my,” whispered the woman. “That must be them.” She giggled nervously. “What’ll I do?”
“Answer it or they’ll crash it in, for sure,” returned Todd.
“But ... but what will I tell them?” She seemed suddenly unsure of herself, to say the least.
“Something, anything. I went out the back door. I don’t know.”
The knock again, harder.
“Yes?” said the woman in an irritated voice.
“Security. Open your door immediately. Emergency.” The familiar volcano-eruption voices.
“Oh God,” said the woman. “I don’t know if I like the sound of them.”
“You won’t like the look of them much either. But do something. This is a matter of life and death ... both mine.”
“All ... all right.” He heard the high-heel clicks to the door, the whoosh of its opening. “Yes?” Breathy, almost frightened, that voice. Lovely ... a contralto wrapped in a tiger’s purr.
He decided that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her there and then. If necessary, he’d barge out and see what Hunk had in store for those bastards. Better than seeing any innocent person get hurt. Better—
“We’re searching for a criminal, loose on board,” growled the voice. A swift description ensued. “We saw something going into your cabin. Thought we’d chec
k, make sure you were okay.”
“Oh,” she said. “You must have seen me. I’ve just… just come back from a walk.”
Pause. Todd could almost see the creatures’ eyes boring through the bunk-top.
“Mind if we come in a moment?”
“Surely you don’t think that I would harbor a criminal. Goodness knows. I didn’t shell out eight thousand creds to get arrested.
Pause.
“Just a quick look around ...”
His partner interrupted him, speaking gruffly in an alien language.
The other one grunted.
“My partner reminds me that we’re not allowed in private compartments, and thinks the person we seek must be elsewhere. Good day.”
“It’s nice to know we’re being watched over,” said the woman. “Stop by and we’ll chew some pebbles together sometime,” she muttered.
Todd heard her walk back to the booth. “Okay. I think you’re safe now.” Todd pushed the lid up and scrambled out. It felt as though he was clambering from a coffin.
”I can’t thank you enough.”
The woman wore a troubled look. “My God, those were nasty-looking creatures. I don’t know if I’d even let one of those sit on the side of a cathedral!”
Sitting back on the couch, Todd sighed deeply. “My sentiments exactly.”
“An awfully real fantasy.”
Todd played along. “That’s what it’s supposed to be, isn’t it?” Better not to confuse her anymore. He was too tired, too confused to do anything but lay back and enjoy this respite. A little relaxation with a beautiful woman seemed just what he needed.
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