by Mike Resnick
He was waiting for us when we emerged from the hatch, an expression of open curiosity on his face.
“You're Heath?” he said, staring at Valentine.
“That's right.”
“Welcome to Solitaire. I'm always grateful for company.” He turned to me. “You must be Leonardo. Funny name for an alien.”
“I am sorry if it offends you,” I said.
“It takes a lot more than that to offend me,” he replied easily. Then he paused, looking from one of us to the other. “Okay,” he said at last. “I know you're not from Saltmarsh, and I know I've never met either of you before— so suppose you tell me what you're doing here and why I've suddenly become so popular.” He smiled. “I'm not enough of an egomaniac to think it's because you want to see my plasma paintings.”
“You make it sound like we're not your only visitors,” said Heath carefully.
“I got a radio message from someone named Venzia,” answered Kobrynski. “He ought to be here in a couple of hours. All of a sudden everyone wants to talk to me. Why?”
“Venzia?” repeated Heath, puzzled. “How could he have caught up with us so quickly?”
It was Kobrynski's turn to look puzzled. “You guys were having a race to see who could reach me first?”
“In a manner of speaking,” replied Heath.
“Why?”
“Because we think that you're a very important man, Mr. Kobrynski,” said Heath, “and we have some questions we'd like to ask you.”
“Why am I so important?”
“That's one of the things we'd like to speak to you about,” said Heath.
Kobrynski shrugged. “Why not? I've got nothing to hide.” He paused. “It's too hot out here. Come on into the cabin.” He turned to me. “You, too.”
We followed him into the portocabin, a large structure that was filled with numerous very sophisticated computers, as well as various other machines that I could not identify. Mounted on the walls were several animal heads, each more fearsome than the last.
“Very impressive,” said Heath.
“The equipment or the animals?” asked Kobrynski.
“Both,” said Heath. He pointed to one of the heads, a hideous, snarling reptile with six-inch fangs. “Isn't that a Thunder Lizard? I think I saw one once in a zoo on Lodin XI.”
Kobrynski nodded. “It's a Thunder Lizard, all right— but you must have seen it in a museum. They've never been able to capture one alive.”
“Where do they come from?” I asked.
“Gamma Scuti IV.”
“Thunder Lizards look very savage,” I observed.
“They are,” agreed Kobrynski. He gave the head a fond pat. “Especially this one. He was gnawing away on my left foot when I finally killed him.”
“Is that how you lost your arm, too?” I asked.
He shook his head. “That was about fifteen years ago, in a skydiving accident.” He flexed his artificial left arm. “No great loss. This one works better than my real one.” He paused. “Anyone care for a drink?”
“Yes, thanks,” said Heath.
Kobrynski reached into a cabinet, withdrew a bottle of Altairian rum, and tossed it to Heath. “How about you?” he asked me.
“I do not partake of stimulants,” I replied. “But I thank you for the offer.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, sitting down on the edge of an unmade bed and motioning us to seat ourselves on a pair of metal stools. “Okay. Start asking your questions. I think I'm as interested in them as you are in the answers.”
“Are you alone here?” asked Heath.
“Is that a question, or the prelude to a robbery?” asked Kobrynski in a tone that boded ill for any potential burglar.
“It is a question of the utmost importance,” I said.
“I'm alone.”
“There's no woman with you?” persisted Heath.
Kobrynski waved his real arm in a sweeping gesture that encompassed most of the planet. “Do you see one?” He paused. “What's all this about a woman? Venzia asked me the same damned thing.”
“We are seeking a certain woman,” I said. “I have reason to believe that she will appear here before too much longer.”
“On Solitaire?” he said with a sardonic laugh. “What could possibly make a woman come out to a hot, ugly, lifeless world like this?”
“You could, Mr. Kobrynski,” I replied.
He looked surprised. “Me?”
“That is correct.”
“Maybe you didn't get a good look at me in the sunlight,” he said. “I haven't exactly got the kind of face that would make a woman follow me around the galaxy.”
“This woman will,” I said.
“Keep talking,” said Kobrynski, his face alive with interest.
I turned to Heath. “May I be permitted to conduct the interview, Friend Valentine?”
Heath smiled. “You took it over a couple of minutes ago.”
“I apologize for my poor manners,” I said.
“There's no need to,” said Heath. “After all, you're the expert.”
“Thank you,” I said, turning back to our host. “Mr. Kobrynski, two years ago you were the underbidder on a painting that was sold on Beta Santori V.”
“How did you know that?”
“It is a matter of public record,” I replied. “Do you recall the painting?”
“Of course I do. It was the only piece of art I ever tried to buy, and some rich bastard from Near London or Old London wound up with it.”
“Far London,” I corrected him.
“Do you know him?” asked Kobrynski. “He never showed up at the auction himself; he had an agent do his bidding for him.”
“His name is Malcolm Abercrombie,” I replied. “He was my employer until quite recently.”
“He must be loaded.”
“He is quite wealthy,” I agreed. “May I ask what it was about that particular painting that interested you? I have seen it, and in all candor, it is not a very well-executed portrait.”
“Are you here to ask me about paintings or about some woman you're looking for?”
“Both,” I replied. “Would you please answer my question? I assure you that it is quite important.”
Kobrynski shrugged. “I didn't give a damn about how good a painting it was,” he said. “I told you: I don't collect artwork.”
“But you tried to purchase that painting,” I continued. “Why?”
“Because of the subject matter.”
“The woman who was depicted?”
He nodded. “That's right.”
“Have you ever seen her?” I asked.
“Almost every night for close to twenty years,” replied Kobrynski.
“That's impossible!” interjected Heath.
“I'd be very careful who I called a liar, Mr. Heath,” said Kobrynski ominously.
“Have you ever been to Acheron?” asked Heath.
“I've never even heard of it.”
“I know for a fact that she was on Acheron for at least a month,” said Heath. “How could she possibly have been with you at the same time?”
“I didn't say I'd met her,” answered Kobrynski. “I said I've seen her.” He tapped his head. “In here.”
“I don't understand you, Mr. Kobrynski,” said Heath.
“She keeps appearing to me in my dreams,” replied Kobrynski. “I used to think that I had invented her. Then I saw the painting.” He paused. “I guess I must have seen it once before, and carried the memory of her face around in my subconscious.”
“You can think of no other explanation?” I asked.
“I sure as hell can't have met her,” he replied. “The painting was six centuries old.”
“Why did you attempt to purchase it?” I asked.
Suddenly his eyes narrowed. “Look,” he said harshly. “If it's been stolen, and your boss is thinking of blaming me for it, just because I bid on the damned thing... ”
“I assure you that it has not been
stolen,” I said, “nor is Malcolm Abercrombie still my employer.”
“Then why do you care why I tried to buy it?”
“Please believe that it is important to me.”
“Well, it's embarrassing to me,” he replied. Finally he shrugged again. “What the hell. You've come all this way; you might as well have your answer.” He paused. “I tried to buy it because I thought it was a way of putting my demons to rest.”
“I do not understand.”
“It's going to seem crazy to you,” he said, “but even though I'd never met the woman in the painting, somehow I started to believe that she was real, that someday I would meet her.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I suppose I was even a little bit in love with her.”
“It does not seem crazy to me,” I said. “Please continue.”
“Well, it seems crazy to me when I say it,” he replied uneasily. “You know, every time I climbed into a ring or faced a charging animal, I felt that I was proving myself to her, and that if I could just win enough fights and face enough animals, somehow she'd know what I had done.” He grimaced. “So here I sit, a certifiable romantic talking to two strangers about his infatuation with a phantom. Maybe we'd better get back to your flesh and blood woman.”
“I find phantoms more interesting,” I responded. “Could we talk about her a bit longer?”
He sighed. “Why not? I don't suppose I can say anything that will make me feel any more foolish than I feel right at this moment.”
“Do you still dream about her?” I asked.
“Every night.”
“Does she ever smile in your dreams?”
He stared at me curiously for a long moment. “No, she never does,” he said, obviously surprised at my question. “She always has this sad expression on her face, like... ” His voice trailed off.
“Like what?”
“Like she's searching for something. Something important to her.”
“Has she ever appeared to you when you were awake?”
“I told you,” he said irritably, “she's just an image of some woman who lived centuries ago. No, not even that; she's my memory of an artist's conception of her.” He stared curiously at me. “Why are you so interested in her?”
“She is alive,” I replied.
“She can't be!”
“She is alive,” I repeated. “And I believe that she will soon appear on Solitaire.”
“It can't be the same woman,” said Kobrynski firmly.
“It is.”
He laughed suddenly. “You're crazier than I am.”
“I am not crazy,” I said. “I believe she will appear here soon— and when she does it is imperative that I be allowed to speak to her.”
“You've actually seen her?”
“We have,” interjected Heath.
“It must be someone who looks like her,” said Kobrynski. “She'd be more than six hundred years old.”
“More than eight thousand years, actually,” I said.
“Then it can't be the same woman,” repeated Kobrynski.
“She's not exactly a normal woman,” said Heath wryly.
“No alien ever looked like that,” said Kobrynski.
“She's not an alien, either,” said Heath.
“So she's not a woman and she's not an alien,” said Kobrynski. “What is she?”
“I don't know,” admitted Heath.
Kobrynski turned to me. “What do you think she is?”
“A phantom,” I replied.
“A phantom?” he repeated.
“She has appeared to many men over the millennia,” I explained. “She is drawn to those who court her. The library computer on Far London has confirmed that you will be the next man that she visits.”
“Then your library computer is missing a couple of chips,” said Kobrynski. “I've never met her. How the hell could I court her?”
“By continually entering life-threatening situations,” I replied.
“Then you've come to the wrong place. They're fighting wars all over the galaxy; there are soldiers who are risking their lives ten times a day.”
“She is drawn to men who voluntarily risk their lives with no thought of profit,” I continued. “A soldier does not risk his life unless he is ordered to do so.”
“How can she know whether I've risked my life or not?”
“You told me earlier that you thought she somehow would know if you did so,” I replied. “You were correct.”
“But if she's never seen me... ” he began, confused.
“She is not a woman,” I said.
“Why are you so interested in her?” asked Kobrynski suddenly.
“There are certain things I must ask her.”
“If there's any truth to this half-baked story of yours, just risk your life and she'll come to you.”
“In eight millennia, she has never been observed in the company of a non-human.”
“Then I repeat: Why are you interested in her?”
“It is very difficult to explain,” I said.
“Good. It's time someone besides me felt awkward.”
“She appeared to me in a vision,” I said. “I must find out why.”
“A vision?” he repeated. “You mean, like a religious visitation?”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” he repeated. “What does that mean?”
“It may have been a dream. If it was a vision, I must discover why she has singled me out among all non-humans, and what she wants of me.”
“And if it was a dream?”
“Then I will know she did not contact me, and I will be free to perform a religious ritual that has been too long postponed.”
“What ritual?” asked Kobrynski suspiciously.
“Suicide,” I said.
Kobrynski blinked his eyes. “I stand by my first statement: You guys are crazy.”
“I am sorry that you should think so,” I said.
“Look,” said Heath, leaning forward. “I don't know what she is: a woman, an alien, a teleporter, or Leonardo's Mother of All Things. But I do know that she was on my ship less than two months ago, and that there are more than forty paintings, holograms, and sculptures of her dating back more than eight thousand years. That much, at least, is a fact.”
“You've actually met her?” asked Kobrynski.
“Both of us have,” replied Heath.
“Why didn't you ask her what you wanted to know then?”
“I don't have any questions for her,” said Heath. “And Leonardo didn't know what she was— or what he thinks she is— at the time.”
“Okay,” said Kobrynski. “I know what his interest in her is. What's yours?”
A mask of impassivity suddenly covered Heath's face. “I'm just helping Leonardo find her.”
Kobrynski looked from Heath to me and back again. “You're lying,” he said at last. Then he turned to me. “You're telling the truth— but you're crazy.” He paused. “What about this Venzia? What does he want from her?”
“He wants to know what lies beyond this life,” I replied.
“And he thinks she can tell him?”
“Yes.”
Kobrynski frowned. “What did they do— empty all the asylums in the Oligarchy and give all the inmates my name?”
“It is not necessary for you to believe us,” I said.
“Good— because I don't.”
“All we ask,” I continued, “is your permission to remain on Solitaire until she appears.”
“She's not going to appear,” said Kobrynski.
“I hope you are right,” I said.
“I thought you wanted to talk to her.”
“I have to talk to her,” I responded. “No one wants to confront his god.”
“So now she's a god instead of a lonely woman who likes men that take chances?”
“I do not know,” I said. “That is what I must find out. May we have your permission to stay on Solitaire?”
“It's not mine to gi
ve,” said Kobrynski. “Stay or go as you please.”
“Thank you.”
“No need to; I always humor madmen.” He paused. “When do you think she's going to show up?”
“I do not know.”
“Well, if it's anytime after tonight, she'd damned well better be a goddess.”
“Why?” asked Heath.
“Because I've been toying with a new variation of my plasma painting,” replied Kobrynski. “I'm going to test it out tonight— and when I do, this whole damned planet's going to be radioactive for the next seventy or eighty years.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Do you know what's involved in plasma painting?” he asked.
“I was given a brief description of it by the library computer on Far London.”
“Well, it's an interesting process, but it always seemed a bit limited,” said Kobrynski. “Now that I've got an unpopulated planet to play with, I'm going to use unstable atoms to create controlled explosions for artistic emphasis.”
“Have you tried it yet?” asked Heath.
Kobrynski smiled. “If I had, you'd have received a lethal dose of radiation the instant you left your ship.” He paused. “But I've run it through the computer, and it tells me that it should work.”
“Is it safe for us to stay on the planet while you're creating your plasma painting?” asked Heath.
Kobrynski nodded. “The cabin is shielded against radiation.” He paused again. “If you've got protective suits in your ship, it might be a good idea to get them and bring them here to the cabin. I can dig up something for you— but I wouldn't know how to go about fitting him,” he added, gesturing toward me.
“I might as well get them right now,” said Heath, walking out the door.
Kobrynski and I sat in silence for a few moments. Finally he sighed deeply.
“For what it's worth,” he said, “I wish you weren't crazy.”
“Oh?”
“I've been lonely all my life.”
“I thought humans did not mind being alone,” I said.
“Don't you believe it, Leonardo,” he replied.
“Then, if I may ask a personal question— ”
“Just what do you think you've been asking?”
“I apologize if I have offended you.”
“I'm not offended, just embarrassed,” said Kobrynski. “And since it was my own answers that embarrassed me, I've got no one to blame but myself. Go ahead and ask your question.”
