“Well then. They can’t deprive a husband and wife their time alone.”
“Mate,” Dorie said. “We don’t use that term. So we’ll finally consummate the marriage after how many years?”
“Do they know we haven’t?”
Dorie raised her eyebrows. “I guess not.”
He smiled. “I’ll give Chinkno and whoever else—”
“Knox.”
“Knox. I’ll give them the night off.”
The look on Dorie’s face told him she was warming up to the idea. The corners of her mouth twitched upward, her nose flaring just slightly.
“I think it’ll work,” he said.
“What I think is that you’re totally Rubed out.”
A little pinch in his side made him wince. “And thank Union for that. I’d rather not feel that other pain ever again.”
Dorie reached up on her tiptoes and touched his cheek, her face darkening. “Oh, Mr. Brindos,” she said, “I’m afraid you’re not going to have any say in that.”
Dorie left Brindos in the room for about fifteen minutes while he nervously thought about her statement. He didn’t like the sound of it at all. Earlier, she had told him that he would die if she couldn’t “free” him. The little twinges had come back, and he worried he might not get more RuBy before the twinges became excruciating pain.
She returned with some clothes: a gray one-piece tunic similar to what Red and Blue had worn out in the alley. She left again while he put them on, the tunic a little loose, but serviceable. When she came through the door again, she had a simmering plate of gabobilecks and Helk red rice. He hadn’t eaten since his earlier trip here with Joseph. This time, the food was authentic, and he devoured it with no ill effects, ignoring the utensils, spicy juice dripping down his chin. He wanted seconds, but didn’t send her back for more. Even playing the part of Plenko, he couldn’t just wander around the Restaurant looking for more food, since its patrons weren’t all Helks. Someone—the wrong someone—could recognize him and alert the authorities.
Dorie left again with the dirty plate, then came back to the storeroom, ready to move them out of there, ready to blend in. As she put it, she hadn’t seen face or fur of Plenko’s Helk entourage: Chinkno and Knox, both of whom had been around The Restaurant when Brindos got pulled in.
“I’d rather you not run into them considering the state you were in when you got here,” she said. “You’re well within your right as Plenko to walk me out of here to my place, but it would be better if we went unnoticed.”
A pain similar to a punch to the stomach made him suddenly double over. He forced back a groan.
“This is all for now,” she said, and gave me half a square of RuBy. “It’ll ease the pain, and it’s not enough to make you stagger through the hallway like a drunk.”
He nodded, letting the RuBy dissolve on his tongue. He motioned for her to go ahead. Once she deemed it safe, Dorie led him out into the hallway and they turned right toward the back door. The hallway was as he remembered it, the lighting yellowish and dim, the space wide enough to accommodate several Helk waiters side by side. A tinge of Helk spices and an almost overpowering smell of boiled meat bombarded him. A constant clatter of dishes came from the kitchen area behind them, and just before reaching the entrance to the authentic portion of the restaurant, a loud crash from within, followed by some choice Helk curses, made Dorie jerk back in surprise.
She recovered quickly, walked a little faster, and motioned him farther down the hallway. “Hurry,” she whispered as they approached the exit to the back alley.
Brindos had no idea what he might say if one of the Helks was out back. Luckily, no one lay in wait in the alley. It was later in the day, dusk coming on. He’d been in that little storeroom almost a whole day. He glanced to his right at the narrow passageway he’d squeezed through last night, then they headed in the opposite direction, their footsteps on the cobblestones echoing off the brick walls.
“It’s not far,” Dorie said over her shoulder once they came out into a main street. The stone buildings here seemed to be mostly homes and apartments, some of them deserted, and they crowded the street, making him feel a bit claustrophobic.
Joseph had known about the original Helk settlement in this district. He’d seemed knowledgeable about a lot of things regarding Midwest City, but what had he really admitted that night? That the city planners would demolish the old buildings, modernize the district, and squeeze out whatever Helk heritage remained here. Joseph hadn’t really given it much weight, a typical reaction of Temonus colonists who didn’t much care about Helks and their claims to the planet. That, more than anything, convinced Brindos that the Joseph from the Orion Hotel was different than the Joseph with the glowing fingers.
The question was: did Joseph know he’d been copied? Their conversation at the Blue Rocket bar, where he learned about the murder of Jordan Dak, suggested he might.
“Have I lost you again?” Dorie asked.
Brindos blinked away the thoughts. “Sorry. Found me.” His little twinges had gone away, thanks to the RuBy, and he took a moment to focus on their surroundings.
They had come to a one-story home that seemed almost out of place compared to the buildings around it. It was a wooden building instead of stone or brick, painted red, four tall windows on the side facing the street, all intact. Set back a little farther from the street than the other structures, the home had an actual sidewalk that led to the front door. Although the day had not completely given way to darkness, a solitary lamppost behind them had flickered on.
“Home sweet home,” Dorie said. It was an Earth saying, so the sarcasm in her voice had extra punch. She’d been born on Earth, but she hadn’t told him how long she’d lived there before moving to Ribon. Temonus was not her home; this little house was not her home, and she was not happy about it.
The door was wooden too, painted yellow like the back door of the Restaurant. As Dorie walked up to it, Brindos wondered if it would be locked. Would Plenko let her have a key if they were watching her, escorting her from place to place?
But she did have one. After fumbling around in her pockets, she produced a single silver object. “They let me unlock, open, and close the door,” Dorie explained. “To make the place feel more like my own, I guess.”
She pushed the door open, letting a little light into the dark room.
They saw the person sitting calmly in the large upholstered chair in front of them, feet flat on the floor, arms behind the head, eyes reflecting the light of the lamppost out on the street. They froze, and Brindos made ready to do something desperate if needed, but the person made no move toward them, no threatening gestures. Brindos’s eyes hadn’t adjusted to the lighting, but he had no doubts about what he was looking at, and it wasn’t really a person.
It was a Helk.
The Helk fidgeted a little, as if trying to get more comfortable in the chair. Brindos rolled over in his mind what he was going to say, unprepared for this moment, even though he’d been the one to suggest giving Dorie’s watch Helks the night off. A wrong gesture, an incorrect turn of phrase, or a failure to recognize which Helk sat here in the near darkness—well, he’d be found out and turned over to the Midwest authorities. Look who we found! they’d say. The evil terrorist Terl Plenko!
No more Union bright. Good-bye Union. Good-bye Alan.
He didn’t have a clue, of course. Chinkno? Knox? Koch? Dorie hadn’t moved a muscle, and wasn’t giving any hints. Brindos glanced quickly in her direction; her eyes were wide, mouth open.
Say something, Dorie. Help me out here.
She remained silent, so Brindos took a chance and stepped forward onto a hardwood floor, raising a hand in a nonthreatening greeting. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice low and guttural. “I’ve got her.”
“Oh, do you, now?” the Helk said.
Brindos nodded, putting a hand on Dorie’s shoulder. “Going to spend some time … with my mate.”
The Helk laughed
. “That’s funny, coming from you.” He reached over and turned on the lamp on the side table. “It’s actually something I would’ve said.”
Terl Plenko stood up and grinned, and Brindos felt a pang in his heart, which was not at all a pleasant sensation considering its new position in his body. Plenko walked over slowly, eyes glittering with amusement.
Goddamn it, Brindos thought to himself, looking at Plenko. At me.
Plenko had come close, his face inches away. He looked into Brindos’s eyes. “Well now, this is quite impressive,” he said, and he seemed genuinely surprised. “They certainly did a nice job on you.”
Twenty-one
Jennifer Lisle stared at us over the barrel of her blaster, and by the look on her face I could tell she was more than pleased to have us in this position. She wore jeans and a dark blue sweater. At least I thought it was dark blue. The sun had dipped behind the mountains, and the sky had darkened quickly.
The uniformed Helks had separated themselves from the mob, coming up on either side of us, their own weapons raised.
Jennifer nodded at one of the Helks and they both moved toward us, one coming right up to me. He made a “give it to me” motion with his stunner, and I reluctantly gave him my blaster. Forno was relieved of his weapon too.
“Code card,” Jennifer said.
I pulled it out of my pants pocket and threw it at her.
“Your flier is impounded and will be thoroughly checked,” she said as the Helk gave her the code card. “New transport will arrive soon, and we’ll return to New Venasaille.” Now that the Helks had their weapons trained on us, she put her own blaster away. “I’ve got better things to do than chase you two around.”
I wondered what things. “Kidnapping,” I said. “Sedition. Enslavement. That sort of thing.”
Jennifer smirked. “Funny man, Mr. Crowell.”
Next to me, Forno cleared his throat. He fidgeted, then bumped me a little with his arm. He was trying to tell me something, and I knew what it was.
Everything she had told me at the Flaming Sea had been on the level. No way would she have said those things if she was going to put a gun to my head later and take me prisoner. This wasn’t the Jennifer Lisle I’d talked to earlier in the day. She wasn’t dressed the same. Her demeanor had changed. If Forno hadn’t told me his story, if I hadn’t figured out who this was, I might have given away something about Katerina Parker. Or Cara Landry.
“You’re a copy,” I said.
Jennifer shrugged. “I’m real enough, Mr. Crowell. Oh, and we know all about your visit to the Flaming Sea. I guess Mr. Forno here told you what he knows about us?” She reached out and ran her finger along my jawline, the trace wind catching her blond hair and blowing it across her face.
I narrowed my eyes at her, holding back my anger. I wanted to reach out and smack her. Lean into her and zip her with my finger caps. Wouldn’t come to anything, of course. Probably get me knocked in the head, but I wanted to do it more than anything.
“Who’s done this to you?” I said to her dark eyes.
She backed away from me, glancing at Forno. “Who they are does not matter. I don’t matter, you don’t matter.” She looked at me again. “Names mean nothing. What matters is ozsc.”
Substance. Soul.
“That’s a Helk concept,” I said. “You’re not a Helk.”
“The concept is appropriate. We are One. That is all.”
I heard a rustling behind me, and after a moment, the Helk closest to Forno walked away toward the sound. When I braved a look over my shoulder, I saw that the tent mob had turned away and were headed back to New Venasaille, escorted by the armed Helk. They disappeared into the trees.
Almost immediately, I heard the whine of an approaching craft; from the sound of it, this flier was larger than Forno’s flier, probably a Helk transport ship, the thrumming engines ominous in the near-dark of the clearing. I looked up and caught sight of the craft as it flew in over the tops of the trees from the direction the mob had gone. It hovered over us for a bit, its landing lights blinking; then, after a shriek of its thrusters, it settled down in the very spot where Forno’s flier had landed earlier.
The engine noise lessened and a moment later a side door opened up in the craft. It was dark enough now that I could barely discern the outline of the hull. Someone ducked through the door and jumped the short distance to the ground.
The figure came up behind Jennifer Lisle, walking so slowly that I thought maybe some sort of handicap was holding it back. But no, not an “it.” She was a human female. I saw the shadow of long, flowing hair, a thin frame, a careful, purposeful walk.
“Meet my One,” Jennifer Lisle said.
I shivered at those words, at the slow reveal of this person. She slipped in next to Jennifer and I saw her face, saw who she was, and I sucked in my breath. Next to me, Forno swore.
Cara.
Oh, please, not Cara. Not Cara.
She took another step toward me.
“Cara?” I whispered.
Forno jumped in quickly. “I swear I didn’t know.”
But it didn’t matter. I knew it wasn’t really her. A copy, of course. She didn’t say anything to me, just scanned my face without emotion. Without … anything. Her eyes were glassy, the pupils dilated, and they barely moved in their sockets. I just stared into those dead eyes, ignoring the others in the clearing, and a feeling of helplessness overcame me; my earlier shiver returned, my whole body quivering. I felt absolutely afraid of her.
This wasn’t just another copy.
I could read the otherness of her from her demeanor. This wasn’t simply a matter of the Science Consortium altering her molecular structure and manipulating or mutating her DNA or brain chemistry. It wasn’t that she was just a pattern, a perfect copy. It wasn’t just binary switching. It wasn’t just nanomaterials transforming.
She was something else.
A barely perceptible smile crossed her face, as if she realized that I understood at that moment what she was. I didn’t know what she was—not at all. I needed to know, though. I needed to know for the sake of the entire Union.
Cara’s smile—or what passed for a smile—was fleeting, and disappeared just before she turned on her heel and walked calmly toward the transport.
Jennifer Lisle motioned us after her. “Watch out for his finger caps,” she said to the Helk. “We’ll discharge them inside.”
I groaned to myself as the remaining Helk moved in and nudged me with his stunner.
“Move,” he growled.
He herded us into the transport. A row of seats with armrests in the back faced another row. The Helk pushed us rudely into the back row, then sat in one of the rear-facing seats, on the end farthest from the door. Jennifer Lisle and Cara sat next to him.
Before I could even attempt anything, Jennifer reached over and covered my hands with a neuralizer designed for the purpose of discharging finger caps quickly. Its soft material automatically formed to my hands and I soon felt the tingle that meant I had lost the charge in my caps.
I stared at Cara. She had yet to say a word. She looked as though she might melt into the seat, she was so calm. Hands folded in her lap, she didn’t even flinch when the transport rumbled with sound, shook madly, then took off.
I held onto the armrest, my head against the back cushion, but I never looked away from Cara. When she caught me looking at her, the corners of her mouth lifted ever so slightly. It wasn’t so much a smile as it was a gesture of contempt, and coming from someone like Cara, who I had loved and cherished, it made me cold inside.
Still silent, she lifted her right hand, spreading her fingers as if she hoped to teach me what the number five was.
Then, slowly, her fingernails, followed by her fingers, began to glow. The glow intensified, enveloping her hand in a blinding, white light.
I didn’t remember passing out. I awoke thinking: what the hell was that? Cara putting me under with a glowing hand? Cara the copy. Cara the
alien. I had decided that much just before getting into the transport. She was not just a copy of the original Cara, but a transformed version of an entity here to invade the Union.
Mouth dry, head throbbing, I only needed a moment to figure out where I was. They’d taken me back to New Venasaille and dumped me on a cot in one of the tents. It was dark. I wondered what time it was, whether just past sundown or almost sunrise. I had no way of knowing at this point, my code card gone. Cut off from the real world, from the agency I worked for. The agency now compromised by an enemy disguised.
“Forno?” I whispered, hoping they’d put him in the tent with me.
“Don’t you wish,” came the voice of Jennifer Lisle.
I sat up in the cot and spotted her in a chair in front of the tent opening. A faint light outside made her an indistinct shadow. “What’ve you done with him?”
“We’re very glad he saved us the trouble and came to New Venasaille. The Kenn told us they had lost him.”
“You killed him.”
“Well, not yet.”
My eyes adjusting to the dark, I scanned the tent, looking for an advantage.
“Several guards are posted outside and around the back,” she said. “Trying to escape would be foolish, since they’ve been ordered to kill you if they see you on your own outside this tent.”
Throat scratchy, I swallowed, still trying to recover from the effects of Cara’s light show.
“Mr. Crowell,” she said, “you know about something important we need.” She took a moment and inched the chair closer to me. “Where is the key?”
“Tell me how the Conduit works.”
“When you tell me about the key.”
“When you tell me about the Conduit.”
“I’m not privy to nor even understand the technical stuff, and can’t give you specifics.”
“Do your best.”
She sighed. “It won’t do you any good knowing about the procedure. So you might as well tell—”
“This procedure you talk about. It makes a copy of an individual, right?”
The Ultra Thin Man Page 19
