“What kind?”
“Originally nucleonics. But since the Ganymeans showed up, it’s been getting more general.”
Murray took a gulp from his glass and regarded Hunt quizzically. “So how in hell did you wind up being bounced around in the middle of a Jev banana parade? For somebody who’s been off the ship an hour, that takes real talent. You must have a guidance system that homes on trouble.”
“Not really. The tube in from the shuttle port wasn’t running—”
“Typical.”
“—so we used a bus. Our group will be based at PAC.”
“The old government center. Okay.”
Hunt shrugged. “The bus had to divert and got bogged down in the crowd. The Jevlenese who were with us decided to try and make it on foot. I got separated from the others. And then you showed up.”
“Probably just as well for you, too. They can get pretty wild. Most of them are headworld cases who forgot the difference between
cuckoo-land and reality a long time ago—assuming they ever figured it out in the first place.”
“There was something else, too,” Hunt said. “On the way in from Geerbaine we passed an accident.”
Murray pulled a face. “It gets a bit like 1-405 sometimes. How bad was it?”
“It wasn’t a pileup. A traffic bridge collapsed—part of an exit slipway.”
“Goddamn turkeys,” Murray muttered beneath his breath. “Anyone hurt bad?”
“It looked like it. And I think one of them was the deputy police chief. Apparently he was driving over it.”
“Oh, shit. Well, I guess we’ll be hearing all about that.”
Hunt looked around the room, tapping his fingertips lightly on the tabletop next to him. His eyes came back to Murray. “Look, I don’t want to be unsociable or anything, and maybe it’s been a long time since you talked to anyone new from back home. But the others will be wondering what’s happened to me. I need to get to PAC. Is it very far from here?”
“You’re right. We can shoot the breeze some other time.” Murray turned to Nixie and said something in Jevlenese. She replied with a stream of chatter, nodded, and said something in a raised voice. Another female voice answered from what seemed to be the room in general.
“That’s Lola, the house computer,” Murray murmured. Hunt nodded.
Nixie exchanged a few words with Lola, and then another female voice came on and entered into a dialogue with Nixie.
“Nixie and Osaya will take you there,” Murray said, turning back to Hunt. “Osaya’s one of the girls upstairs. I’d do it myself, but I’ve got somebody coming here in about fifteen minutes. Business.”
“That would be fine.” Hunt nodded and finished his drink. “That stuff’s not bad.”
“Glad you like it. Don’t forget to come back and have another.” They were silent for a few seconds. Then Hunt said, “That ‘headworld’ that you mentioned a minute ago. What is it? Do you mean JEVEX creations?”
“Yeah. Most Jevs never learned to ask questions, so they believe anything anyones tells ‘em. It’s Madison Avenue’s dream out here. I’m telling ya, if them Thuriens don’t wise up and start limiting the
tickets, there’s gonna be every con artist and snake—oil salesman from home comin’ in by the shipload once the news gets around.”
Nixie finished her conversation. She examined her nails, then opened the front of the top she was wearing and began painting one of her nipples.
“So what’s going on everywhere today?” Hunt asked. “Who are these people with the purple spiders, or whatever it’s supposed to be? One of the guys who met us said something about a big guru arriving in town.’’
Murray nodded with a weary sigh. “You remember they used to call California the Granola state: full of nuts, fruits, and flakes? Well, I’m tellin’ ya, it’s like a convention of judges and bishops compared to this place. They’ve got every brand you can think of here. Magical forces, mystical dimensions, mind-power, faith-power, psychic messages—if you can think of it, somebody believes it.”
“And the Thuriens were never able to change it,” Hunt commented, drawing on his cigarette.
Murray turned up his empty hand. “That’s the way it is .
Anyhow, one of the biggest outfits calls itself something that translates roughly as the ‘Spiral of Awakening’—that’s what the purple spider is. They’re into some kinda reincarnation crap. It’s leader is a guy called Ayultha: a kind of Hitler that’s got religion.”
“Ayultha, he make lots crazy people,” Nixie said, catching the name. “Not good. Terrans not so crazy. Think I go live Earth. Terran men like Shiban girl, you think, Vie?”
“I think they’d find them quite . . . passable,” Hunt told her. Murray translated. She looked pleased and transferred her attention to the other nipple.
“Ayultha says it was the old regime that caused all the problems,” Murray went on, “and JEVEX had nothing to do with it. He wants the Ganymeans out and the system restored. But then, all of the cults have got some reason for wanting JEVEX back. With all those junkies out there, they can’t lose. They know when they’re onto a good thing.”
“So who are the ones with green sickles?” Hunt asked.
“Axis of Light: another of the same-except their guiding genius thinks he’s a computer. Basically they’re all as bad, but the leaders carve up the territory by getting everyone hyped up over details that don’t matter—you know, like whether you make the sign with this hand or that hand, or whether some book said a line this way or that way, and that kind of garbage. But it isn’t exactly something I’ve spent a lot of time worrying about.”
“I imagine not.”
An off-key chiming sound came from the room system. Nixie acknowledged it, and what sounded like two laughing female voices replied. Leaving her handiwork displayed, she got up and went into the hall to open the door. Murray raised his eyebrows. “You’ll have quite an escort,” he told Hunt, draining his glass and standing. “That sounds like Osaya plus one of the others. They’re curious to meet the Terran.”
“I’m not complaining,” Hunt said, rising to follow. “And thanks again for the help. I’ve got to hand it to the U.S. Cavalry again, eh—you showed up just in time.”
Murray handed him a card, printed in Jevlenese. “This has our address and call code. Stop by again when there’s more time to talk.”
“You can count on it.” Hunt went through to the hall, where the three girls were waiting. Osaya turned out to be six feet tall, with a skirt not more than twelve inches long. Her companion was a redhead in pants that went transparent to light at certain angles, causing devastating things to happen as she walked.
“My God,” Hunt muttered. “I’ll never explain this. I hope Chris isn’t around when we get there.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Hunt and his three escorts reached the Planetary Administration Center after a fifteen—minute walk through more streets and arcades and across a pedestrian flyover spanning a moving beltway that carried freight. The base of the PAC complex merged into the general plan of the lower city, but as was clear from the fact that the Shapieron at Geerbaine was visible from higher up, its upper parts formed a tower facing west over the city.
The entrance they came to was a transparent wall and set of doors opening from a wide pedestrian precinct lined by stores and what looked like office units, rows of display eases, and at the far end a battery of stairs and escalators going up to the concourse of a transportation terminal. The doors opened at their approach, and inside was a desk with a Jevlenese reception clerk. A couple of guards were standing a few yards back in the lobby area opening through to the interior. To Hunt’s relief after some of the things he had seen and heard since arriving, the guards were smartly turned out and seemed alert. So someone, at least, seemed to know what he or she was doing. They were unarmed as far as Hunt could see, but both were wearing lightweight headbands, throatmike-earpiece combinations, and wrist un
its that Hunt recognized as Ganymean communications accessories into the Shapieron’s computer system, ZORAC—the direct neural-coupling technology of the Thuriens was from a later era.
Initially, the interest of the guards was focused more on Hunt’s companions than on Hunt. But then the clerk, probably prompted by ZORAC, who would have recognized Hunt via the visual pickups in the headbands, gesticulated and said something in Jevlenese to the other two, followed by “You are Doctor Hunt, who gets missed? All look everyplace Shiban. Ganymeans very . . .“ He traced circles vaguely in the air with his hand.
Hunt nodded. “I’m Hunt. I’m okay.”
“Use, please.” The clerk reached below the desk and produced another communications kit. Hunt fitted the items into place, and a voice spoke that he hadn’t heard for a long time.
“Hello, Vie. Welcome to our world, and all that—but you don’t seem to have been doing a bad job of finding yourself a welcoming committee already. Pretty fast operator, if you don’t mind my saying so.
It spoke in his ear, not his head. A sudden feeling of being back among familiar things came over him. Perhaps, in some ways, the Shapieron Ganymeans were closer to Earthpeople than to Thuriens. “ZORAC, you haven’t changed,” he replied. “This isn’t what it looks like. And even if it were, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”
“Glad to see you’re in one piece, anyhow.”
The reception clerk was coming through coherently now that ZORAC was on—line to translate. “Dr. Hunt, we’re sure pleased to see you. We’ve put alerts out all over. The Ganymeans have been getting worried.”
“Did everyone else make it okay?” Hunt asked.
“They’re all here.”
“We passed an accident on the way from Geerbaine,” Hunt said. “A part of a bridge collapsed.”
“Yes. A senior officer of the Shiban police was killed. There was a lot of confusion.”
“Also, there was a Terran party in a bus, off the same ship as us. They were in a precarious situation when we left.”
“The school group?”
“That’s them. The two Terrans who met us stayed behind to sort it out. Do you have any news on what happened?”
“They’re all okay. Koberg and Lebansky got back a few minutes ago.” Hunt nodded and emitted a thankful sigh. The clerk inclined his head to indicate the three girls, who were by this time talking to the guards. “Er, where did they come from?” he inquired, dropping his voice discreetly.
“They were collecting for charity at the airport.”
“Sure. Give me a call,” Osaya was saying to one of them.
“I’m off at seven. How about then?”
“Anytime. And I love the Terran uniform. . .“ ZORAC was still supplying the background translation.
Just then, another figure appeared through some doors on the far
side of the lobby area and came across. He was about fortyish, with
a medium, athletic build, black-haired and clean—shaven, and wearing a white shirt and gray slacks. As he got closer, Hunt recognized his face as the American that Lebansky had talked to on the screen inside the minibus. The American grinned easily and extended a hand.
“Dr. Hunt, from UNSA?”
“Yes.’’
“Hi. The name’s Del Cullen. Glad you’re okay.” Cullen eyed the three girls curiously. “I see you’ve been making friends already.”
“Well, you didn’t send the mayor with a red carpet. One must exercise initiative.”
The girls waved as Hunt turned with Cullen to go into the building. “Come and see us again, Vie,” Nixie sang after him. “Call if you don’t remember the way.”
“I might surprise you,” Hunt called back. “And thanks again.”
Cullen and Hunt began walking back across the lobby. “English?” Cullen said.
“Yes—from London originally. How about you?”
“East Coast. Baltimore.”
“How do you fit in here?”
Cullen’s voice fell to a level that was not for carrying. “Well, I try to impress some concept of security into these people. It’s an uphill battle at times, but we’re getting there slowly.”
“Which people do you mean—Jevlenese or Ganymeans?”
“Both. I was sent here to help Garuth set the system up. He’s learning fast, but you know how it is with Ganymeans: running an intelligence operation isn’t their line. They didn’t have any eyes or ears out in the city—just tended to sit inside PAC and believe whatever the Jevs told them. We’re starting to use Jevlenese outside, now. They can be okay if you know how to select the right ones.”
They entered the elevator. “I take it that those two who picked us up, Koberg and Lebansky, they work for you, then?” Hunt said.
“Right. We imported a nucleus of pros from back home to seed the operation.”
The elevator shaft was a transparent tube, and the car had all—round windows, presenting views of a progression of galleries, halls opening into office areas, and wide corridors as the car ascended. Although not exactly new and gleaming, the condition of the surroundings was noticeably better than the general standard outside.
Hunt still didn’t follow completely. He remembered one of the two at Geerbaine saying something about things happening that Hunt probably didn’t know about. “So, how did you get here?” he asked Cullen. “I mean, how did Garuth come to acquire a security operation in the first place? Who do you work for?”
“When the Thuriens and our own governments set up this arrangement, some of the folks back home knew there’d be problems when the Jevlenese started getting over their shell shock. The U.S. pushed for a security operation here that wouldn’t have to depend on the Jevlenese police, but the Thuriens blocked it.” Cullen shrugged. “So somebody persuaded Garuth that it would be a good idea to set up something anyway—’semiofficial,’ if you know what I mean— just in case it was needed. If it turned out to be over cautious, well, no harm done.”
Hunt nodded. As far as he was concerned, obstructions existed to be circumvented. “And I take it, it turned out to be just as well they did,” he said.
“There’s something funny going on here, all right, with mean people involved. We haven’t exactly figured out what yet. But we can go into that with Garuth later.”
Hunt nodded. “Where will we be staying?” he inquired to change the subject.
Cullen gestured to take in the general scene outside the elevator. “We’ve reserved quarters for you here in PAC. So you won’t have to worry too much if things get a bit hectic outside. The rest of your group are over in the residential part of the complex now, getting their gear straightened out. Your bags came straight through on a freight tube.”
Hunt thought about Gina, out at the spaceport. “How about the people who are staying at Geerbaine?” he asked. “Is there any risk there?”
Cullen shook his head. “The Thuriens run that whole area, and the Jevs don’t want to upset them because they’re the only ones who can turn JEVEX back on. They should be okay.”
They came out of the elevator and headed across an open space with a large window looking out at the city. On the far side of the floor several corridors branched off in different directions. They followed one of them past an area with Jevlenese working at desks and terminals. A number of Ganymeans were also visible, some of them Thunens, Hunt noted. Beyond the open area were smaller rooms and offices.
Garuth was waiting for them in a large, roughly circular anteroom furnished like a reception lounge, with seats facing a sunken area in the center. Another of Cullen’s security guards was seated unobtrusively at a desk by a passage leading through to the inner section.
With Garuth were Shilohin, the female scientist who had been with him when he made his call to Hunt at home, and another old friend of Hunt’s, Rodgar Jassilane, the Shapieron’s engineering chief. The Ganymeans welcomed him in their characteristic easygoing manner, but it was clear that they were relieved to see him after his mish
ap of getting separated from the others.
“We saw ZORAC’s replay of your arrival,” Garuth said as they shook hands.
“It seems that you’re managing to find your way around Shiban already,” Shilohin remarked. The expression on her face had to be the Ganymean equivalent of a smirk. Hunt began to suspect that he would be really tired of that particular topic before the day was out.
“How was your journey?” Jassilane inquired, shaking Hunt’s hand in turn.
“At least we didn’t lose our brakes and have to spend twenty-five million years slowing down,” Hunt replied, grinning. It was a reference to the problem that had caused the Shapieron’s long exile from the Solar System when it tried to return to Minerva. Relativistic time dilation, compounded by an effect of the vessel’s gravity drive, had reduced it to something in the order of twenty years ship’s time.
Hogan, James - Giant Series 04 - Entoverse (v1.1) Page 17
