The Dark Lady

by Mike Resnick

  A set of elevator doors opened. Heath walked over, looked into the empty compartment, but did not enter it.

  “I knew you were jesting,” I said as an enormous sense of relief swept over me.

  “Not at all,” he replied. “I'm simply waiting for a crowded elevator.”

  “Why?”

  “Because then we'll be members of a group coming down from the upper levels of the building, and the police are looking for two individuals coming up from the basement.”

  “And you think that will fool them?” I demanded incredulously.

  “Let's find out, shall we?” he said as a partially full elevator stopped at our floor, and I had no choice but to follow him into it.

  My hue became several shades brighter as my terror increased, and between that and the Mallachi painting I felt hideously conspicuous when we finally emerged into the lobby. Heath had struck up a conversation with an elderly gentleman, and continued talking to him as we came to a trio of uniformed police at the front door of the building. He even nodded pleasantly to one of them, and to my absolute amazement the officer nodded back and paid no further attention to any of us.

  As the group split up upon leaving the building, we followed a foursome that had turned to our left— the opposite direction from where the Mollutei was waiting with Heath's vehicle— and rode the slidewalk until we were out of sight of the police. Then Heath took a small communicator from his pocket and signaled to the Mollutei, and a moment later his vehicle pulled up next to us.

  “Well done, James,” he remarked as we clambered into it. “I think you'd best take us to the spaceport.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked, my heart still pounding rapidly in my chest.

  “It will be a few hours before the police realize how easily we fooled them, but once they do, they're going to be very cross with us. When that unhappy moment occurs, I think it would behoove us to be a long distance away— so I guess we might as well try to find Sergio Mallachi after all.” He leaned back on the seat and grinned. “Next stop— Hell.”

  10.

  My first sensation was one of stiffness. Every joint in my body seemed frozen, and it took an enormous effort of will just to move my fingers.

  Then, as feeling gradually returned to me, came the hunger: overwhelming, voracious, insatiable.

  Finally there was the light, beating against my eyelids and forcing my eyes to water even before I could open them. I tried to wipe the tears from my face with my hand and found that I could not bend my arm sufficiently.

  Suddenly a voice, distant and remote, impinged upon my consciousness.

  “Welcome back,” it said. “I trust you slept well.”

  I tried to ask where I was, but my lips would not respond to my mental commands and all that came out was an unintelligible noise.

  “Don't try to speak or move yet,” said the voice, and now I recognized it as Valentine Heath's. “You're just waking up. You'll be fine in another two or three minutes.”

  I forced an eye open and tried to look at him, but my pupil was completely dilated and I couldn't focus.

  “Where am I?” I managed to mumble, as more feeling returned to me.

  “Aboard my spaceship,” answered Heath.

  “Where is your ship?”

  “About three weeks out of Charlemagne, or four hours from Acheron, depending on which direction you're facing.”

  Finally I was able to reach my face with my hand, and I wiped away the tears and gingerly touched my head.

  “What happened to me?” I asked.

  “You've had a little nap.”

  “For how long?”

  “Almost three weeks.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “I put you in the Deepsleep chamber a couple of hours after we left Charlemagne,” he replied. “You were becoming an emotional basket case. You kept ranting and raving about dishonor and disgrace. When you demanded that I divert the ship and take you to Benitarus II, I decided that the best thing to do was put you into Deepsleep until we reached Acheron.”

  Suddenly it all came back to me: the police, the narrow escape from Heath's building, the fact that I was now a fugitive from justice. I remained surprisingly calm in the wake of these memories, a condition that was doubtless attributable to my weakened physiological state. I tried to sit up, but pains shot through my head and back and I uttered a startled yelp.

  “Don't try to move yet,” said Heath soothingly. “It'll take your body another couple of minutes before it's back to normal. Also, if you're like me, you should be starving: The Deepsleep chamber slows your metabolism down to a crawl, but even so, you can work up quite a hunger after a few weeks. Can I have the ship's galley prepare some food for you?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “All it carries are soya products, but it can make them up to taste like almost anything.” He paused thoughtfully. “Since the Bjornns descend from prey rather than predators, I suppose steak is out of the question?”

  “Vegetation will be sufficient,” I answered.

  “Would you care for some salad dressing?” he asked.

  “No.”

  My vision had cleared enough for me to see him shrug. “Vegetables it is,” he replied, reaching forward to tap out his instructions to the galley on a computer terminal.

  Finally I was able to sit up, and I carefully swung my legs over the edge of a plastic cocoon. I felt a momentary dizziness, but it quickly passed.

  “Handy things, these Deepsleep chambers,” remarked Heath. “I can't imagine why the commercial spaceliner companies don't install them. They keep one from going mad with boredom during long voyages.” He smiled. “I set mine to wake me up six hours ahead of you, just in case you were still feeling distraught.”

  It was a typically pragmatic human response, and I could not bring myself to take offense at it.

  “Are we still fugitives?” I asked.

  “I have no idea,” replied Heath. “One does not, after all, contact the police to ask them if they're still looking for you.” A light flashed on his terminal. “Ah! That would be your salad. Do you feel up to walking to the galley?”

  “I will try,” I said, getting gingerly to my feet. To my surprise, I felt quite good, even somewhat refreshed.

  “I told you it would just take a couple of minutes,” he said. “And you have the added advantage of having aged only a day or so during the past three weeks.”

  Since a Bjornn is concerned with the quality of his life rather than the length of it, I made no response, but merely followed him to the galley, where a container of vegetable matter awaited me. I was so hungry that I grabbed some of the larger pieces and stuffed them greedily into my mouth before I even sat down.

  “Feeling better now?” asked Heath after I had finished the entire meal.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Good.”

  “I must speak with you.”

  “Be my guest,” he said.

  “I must return immediately to Benitarus II.”

  “You're not going to start that all over again, are you?”

  “I have been tainted by my association with human beings,” I said. “I have been shamed by my employer, and now I am being sought by the police, and in my ignorance I do not know how either situation came to pass. All I know is that every moment I remain away from Benitarus I risk bringing further disgrace upon myself and dishonor to my House.”

  “Leonardo, we're four hours away from Acheron. We're probably six weeks from Benitarus.”

  “Nevertheless, further contact with you is morally polluting. I must return to my home, and reimmerse myself in the rote and ritual of Bjornn life.”

  He shook his head. “It's out of the question. Not only is Benitarus half a galaxy away, but it's the very first place the police will think of looking for you.”

  “It is?” I asked, panic-stricken.

  “It is.”

  “We cannot allow this to happen! My Pattern Mother must not be for
ced to speak to human police!” Suddenly a terrifying thought came to me. “They might be there already!”

  “If they are, it's too late to worry about it.”

  “You don't understand!” I cried. “This would be the ultimate disgrace!”

  “Look,” he said. “Once we're done here I'll come with you to Far London. You can deliver the painting to Abercrombie, and I'll explain the situation to Tai Chong, who can fix things with the Charlemagne police. Then you can go anywhere you want to go.”

  “That may be too late!” I insisted.

  He shrugged. “All right,” he said soothingly. “I'll contact her now, while we're approaching Acheron. Will that make you happier?”

  I nodded, momentarily unable to speak. Heath spent the next few minutes sending a subspace message to Tai Chong, summarizing what had happened and exonerating me of any wrongdoing, and asking her to relay his message to my Pattern Mother.

  “Satisfied?” he asked when he had finished.

  “Why are you doing this for me?” I asked.

  “Because I'm an exceptionally decent and caring person.”

  “Very few Men perform acts of charity without the expectation of some profit,” I said. “You have done nothing during our period of association to convince me that you are one of them.”

  Heath seemed amused. “What a cynic you've become, Leonardo,” He paused. “In point of fact,” he added, “I'm also very curious about the Dark Lady. You've made her history seem most intriguing.”

  “So intriguing that you would transport me here and then to Far London at your own expense, with no thought of recompense?” I asked dubiously.

  “Let us say that my interest in her is not entirely philanthropic, and let it go at that,” he replied.

  The ship suddenly shuddered, and I almost fell down.

  “We're braking to sublight speed,” Heath announced. “We ought to be able to see something now.”

  He activated the viewing screen.

  “There it is,” he said. “It even looks hot. Let me get a readout on it.”

  He instructed the computer to provide him with the essential data on Acheron, a reddish world perhaps five thousand miles in diameter, with two small oceans and almost no cloud cover. The surface was pockmarked with impact craters, the poles were the same color as the equator, and it had a single moon, no more than twenty-five miles in diameter, which raced across the sky as if trying to escape from the uninviting world below it.

  “Why would anyone choose to live here?” I asked, staring at the world in the ship's viewing screen.

  “It used to be a mining world,” replied Heath.

  “Has it been mined out?”

  He shook his head. “No. They simply found a number of richer worlds and abandoned it.”

  “Then who lives here?”

  He glanced at the readout. “Hardly anyone. The population is less than three hundred. It's just an outpost world now, a drop point for traders and miners.”

  “Does it ever rain?” I asked.

  “Not very often,” he replied. He referred to the readout again. “Let's see. The average temperature at the equator is thirty-four degrees Celsius, average at the north pole is twenty-nine degrees Celsius. Average annual rainfall at the equator, six inches; at the poles, zero.” He grimaced. “The gravity is a little lighter than we're used to— not so much that we'll be doing backflips when we walk, but enough so that we won't have to expend too much energy, which will help to make up for the heat. Sentient races: none. Local fauna: none. Local flora: sparse and primitive.” He looked up at me. “I'm surprised they found three people to live here, let alone three hundred.”

  “What is the atmospheric content?”

  He checked the readout. “Thin, but breathable. Given some of these trace elements, I have the awful premonition that it will smell like raw sewage.”

  We spent the next few hours recuperating from the effects of the Deepsleep chamber and watching as the red globe became larger and larger and finally filled the entire screen.

  “We are getting quite close,” I noted. “Should you not request permission to land?”

  “They don't seem to have a spaceport,” he replied. “The ship's sensors have located a small town with about two dozen ships parked just north of it. I suppose that's where we're expected to put down.”

  “I hope they do not view this as an act of aggression.”

  He laughed. “What have they got that anyone could possibly want?”

  We entered the atmosphere a few minutes later, and shortly thereafter set down at the edge of a ramshackle town that possessed a single street, composed primarily of domed houses and stores that had been half-buried in the dirt and then covered with layers of dried mud to give them extra insulation from the sun's piercing rays. The entrances, like the buildings themselves, were well below ground level, and consisted of ramps rather than stairs. There had been two cross-streets once, but now they were deserted, lined only with the skeletal remnants of dilapidated buildings.

  When we emerged from the ship, we found a small, dark-haired, dark-eyed man, dressed in an out-of-fashion, dust-covered suit, waiting for us.

  “Welcome to Acheron,” he said, ignoring me and extending his hand toward Heath. “My name is Justin Peres. I'm the mayor.”

  “Valentine Heath,” said Heath, taking his hand. “And this is my associate, Leonardo.” He looked at a cloud of dust blowing down the center of the empty street. “I'm surprised Acheron needs a mayor.”

  “We don't,” admitted Peres. “But we do need food deliveries, and those idiot bureaucrats back on Deluros VIII won't pay for them unless we've got an official government.” He smiled. “You're looking at it.” Suddenly the smile vanished. “And as the official government, I'd like to know your purpose here.” He stared first at Heath and then at me. “You sure as hell don't look like bounty hunters.”

  “We're not,” replied Heath.

  “Well, that's a pleasant change,” he said. “What's your business here?”

  “I'm looking for a friend,” said Heath. “Possibly you know him.”

  “If he's on Acheron, I know him, all right,” answered Peres. “What's his name?”

  “Sergio Mallachi,” I said.

  He looked surprised. “Speak Terran, do you?” He stared at me. “Boy, you sure wouldn't guess it to look at you.”

  “About Mallachi... ” said Heath.

  “You're too late.”

  “Do you know where he is?” asked Heath.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you be willing to share that information with us?”

  “I don't think it'll do you much good,” said Peres. “He's in the cemetery at the south end of town.” He looked sharply at Heath. “You're sure you're not bounty hunters?”

  “I am an artists’ agent,” replied Heath. “I sold a portrait that Mallachi painted, and I've come to deliver his money.”

  “And what's the alien?” asked Peres, jerking a thumb in my direction but not bothering to look at me.

  “As I said, he's my business associate.”

  Peres shrugged. “Well, this is the Frontier,” he said with a look of disapproval. “I can't tell you who to deal with.” He paused for a moment. “You're here to pay him for a painting, you say?”

  “That's right.”

  “Are you sure you've got the right Sergio Mallachi?” asked Peres dubiously.

  “Absolutely.”

  “The bounty hunter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I guess you'll have to hunt up his family and turn the money over to them,” said Peres. He paused for a moment. “He really painted pictures?”

  “One picture,” replied Heath.

  Peres shook his head unbelievingly. “Well, you learn something new every day. I'll bet it was a picture of his ladyfriend.”

  “A dark-haired woman?” asked Heath, suddenly intent. “Pale skin, dark eyes?”

  “That's the one, all right.” Peres paused. “Sorr
y you had to come all this way for nothing.”

  “It's all part of the business,” replied Heath. “But as long as we have come all this way, I for one would like a drink before we start the long return voyage. My associate and I would be happy if you'd join us as our guest.”

  “He drinks, too?” asked Peres. He seemed to consider the proposition. “Might as well,” he said at last. “It's safer than standing around out here, that's for sure.”

  “Is standing here unsafe for some reason?” I asked nervously.

  “It could be,” said Peres, heading off toward the town, which was perhaps four hundred yards distant. Despite the lighter gravity, the heat quickly took its toll of me, and it was all I could do to keep up with the two humans. Suddenly I saw a slight movement on one of the rooftops. I blinked my eyes to make sure that it wasn't a heat mirage, then stared again— and found myself looking at a gray-clad man positioning himself in the shadow cast by the slightly taller next-door building.

  We reached the street, and again I seemed to sense figures lurking in the darkened interiors of buildings. Hunching over so that I wouldn't stand out against the stark landscape, I hurried ahead, my instincts urging me to join the two humans in front of me.

  “What's the matter, Leonardo?” asked Heath, suddenly noticing my posture. “Did you injure yourself?”

  “No.”

  “Then what's wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I said, not wishing to discuss my observations in Peres’ presence.

  Heath stared at me, shrugged, and continued walking. We came to the tavern a moment later, and gratefully entered its cool interior. It was relatively empty, with two groups of men clustered around two large tables, drinking and engaging in desultory conversation. Around the periphery of the room sat three other men, hard-faced and unsmiling, dressed in nondescript browns and grays, seated at small individual tables. One of them toyed with a glass of whiskey, the second was playing solitaire, and the third, somewhat older than the other two, was simply sitting with his elbows propped up on his table, his hat drawn low over his head, his eyes closed. Something about them fascinated and terrified me, and I moved closer to Heath, glancing furtively at each in turn.

  “Well, Mr. Peres,” said Heath, walking to an empty table, “what does one drink on Acheron?”