by D M Arnold
She nodded and swallowed hard.
“You still have feelings for him -- don't deny them, they're documented here.” He held up a portable vidisplay.
“How do you know this man is the same one?” Nyk asked. “She didn't know his true name.”
“Oh, he's the same one, all right.” Sirk poked the vidisplay. “He has an ... an amputation that matches one she described during her interrogation.” He held the display in Nyk's direction. “Care to have a look? This is some of the most riviting testimony I've ever heard.”
Dyppa blushed a deep red. Nyk pushed the display aside. “No, thank you.”
Sirk turned to Dyppa. “We'd like it if you were to ... interview him.”
“ME?”
“Yes -- we'd like to see if you can coax any useful information from him, based on your mutual familiarity.”
“Do I HAVE to?”
“No -- we can't coerce you. Given the threat of The Seven to the entire hegemony -- we'd hope you'd agree.”
Dyppa looked at the floor. “I wouldn't know what to say.”
“Don't say anything. We want to see how he responds.” The captain held up a dime- sized disk. “You'll wear this.”
“A microphone?” The captain nodded.
Dyppa took the object, peeled off a backing, reached under her tunic and secured it between her breasts. “I'll do it.”
“This way.” The captain pointed toward an interview room. “In there. I'll be listening in my office.”
Nyk watched Dyppa head down the hall. The captain returned to his desk and activated a listening device.
He heard a man's voice. “Lyla! What are YOU doing here?”
“I'm here to talk with you,” came Dyppa's reply.
“You? No ... you must've gone over to their side.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“You know whose side.”
“Lom -- can't you see their way is wrong?”
“Whose way? Your way?”
“Violence isn't the answer.”
“It's not even in question,” Lom said.
“He's a cagey one,” the captain remarked. “He hasn't said one useful thing during his entire detention. He's either well trained -- or, he's been through this before.”
“Come here -- let me touch you,” came Lom's voice. Nyk rose out of his chair.
“Relax,” said the captain. “That little girl knows how to fend for herself.”
Nyk nodded. “Yes -- I think you're right.”
“No -- I'm not that way any more.”
“Not even for me?”
“Not for anyone I don't love.”
“I thought we were lovers, Lyla. You still have feelings for me.”
“Don't touch me. Keep your distance.” There was a long pause. “Now,” Dyppa continued. “Who are you with?”
“Who are YOU with? I think I know. I'll bet you're wearing something -- a little spyer perhaps? ... Yes, that. I knew it. I never thought I'd see the day my Lyla would tie in with Altian SecuForce.”
“I'm not with them,” Dyppa protested. “They just wanted to see... Lom -- are you with The Seven?... Tell me.”
“No.”
“You're not?”
“No. I won't tell you -- until you ... get rid ... of this.”
There was a loud, crackling crunch and silence. “One of them must've stepped on it,” the captain said. “I'd better go break this up.”
Nyk shook his head. “Maybe he'll talk now he knows no one is listening.”
“What good will it do?”
“Do you want information? Or, do you want incriminating evidence.”
“On a good day, I'll take both.”
“Maybe today you get only one.”
Sirk and Nyk stared at each other. “All right -- we'll wait and see what happens.”
Nyk paced as Sirk eyed him. He consulted his vidisplay for the time. “Maybe we should go see...”
Dyppa stepped through the door. She extended her hand and dropped the remains of the microphone into the captain's palm. “I'm sorry -- it fell off and I accidentally stepped on it.”
“Did he tell you anything?”
“Only that he still loves me.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing,” Dyppa replied.
“Would you be willing to test that assertion with another dose of truth drug?”
She looked him in the eye. “I would be.”
The captain's eyes flicked up at Nyk. “Go on -- both of you get out of here. You're wasting my time.”
“Captain...” Dyppa said.
“Yes?”
“I believe he HAS gone over to The Seven. You'd be wise to watch him.”
“We had come to the same conclusion.” He made a gesture toward the door.
Nyk held Dyppa's hand as they sprinted toward the tubecar platform. “If Lom IS part of The Seven -- I'm a marked woman,” she said. “And -- if I set foot here again -- I'm a dead one. I won't want to leave the surface of Earth.”
“Yes -- I hope Captain Sirk holds him long enough for us to get offworld.” They reached the lift to the platform. Nyk stopped short. “Look at the crowd on the platform!” he exclaimed. “We'll never get a car. Maybe we should go back to Security and ask for a skimmer.”
“Good luck getting one.” Dyppa surveyed the buildings and followed the tubecar line with her eye as it bent to the left and out of sight. “There's another platform in the next sector. It won't be as crowded.”
“Why not?”
“It's in a poorer part of the city. Nyk -- unpin your xarpa and tie it so the knot is on your right side. No -- don't pin it ... here...” She held out her hand, Nyk dropped his xarpa pin into it and she tucked it into her sash. “There... Pinned in front is sure sign of an offworlder. Come with me.”
Nyk took her hand as she led him down an alley. The street noise quieted as they walked away from the tubecar. “Remember,” she said, “don't make eye contact with anyone. Look straight ahead and walk as if you mean business. It'll reduce the chances we'll get snagged.”
“Snagged?”
“Street toughs will accost vulnerable-looking strangers. They'll take their victims to a public vidisplay and expect them to transfer some work credits -- in exchange for their skins.”
“All I have are Floran credits. They wouldn't transfer here.”
“All the more reason to not look like a victim,” she replied. “Florans are not regarded favorably.”
“Even a Floran who's sympathetic?”
“Try explaining your sympathies to the business end of a shiv.”
They walked past a doorway. Music and rowdy conversation came from an establishment inside. “I recognize that smell,” he said. “Alcohol. I thought it was prohibited.”
“It is, but that doesn't stop them. It's cheap and you can make it yourself. All you need is some sugar and yeast.”
“Where do you get yeast? It's a controlled item.”
“Tell that to the little organisms. They don't seem to care about our rules and regulations... Up ahead -- we should cross the street here.”
“Here? What's up ahead?”
“One of the ore-workers' locals. Do you see that bunch loitering near the building? Those are unemployed ore-workers waiting for an assignment. It wouldn't surprise me if The Seven are recruiting inside.”
Dyppa climbed over a barricade and stood on the curb. A stream of groundcars whizzed by. “Come on, Nyk -- judge their speed and make a dash for it.”
“Where's the crosswalk?”
“At the end of the block. Come on!” Dyppa dashed between two groundcars and leapt over the barricade on the opposite side. Nyk watched a car pass by, then another. He jumped off and ran across the street, the breeze from another groundcar blowing under his tunic. One of the car's occupants shouted an oath at him.
He grabbed Dyppa's hand and they sprinted down the walk and past the union hall. “If Sirk is looking for Seven operatives,” Nyk panted,
“why doesn't he look in there?”
“For a good reason,” Dyppa replied. “The union chiefs are tied in with the bureaucracy. If he upsets the wrong one, he'll find himself busted down to beat patrolman.”
“So, the union chiefs are tied in with The Seven.”
“I didn't say that. What I said was, if I were The Seven, and I wanted some unattached, unemployed, physically fit young men with nothing to lose and something to gain -- that's one place where I'd look.”
“Interrogation-proof, too.”
She pointed. “Up there -- do you see the sign?”
“Tubecar!”
“And, it's not crowded, either.”
Nyk approached the platform lift. He passed his hand over a proximity pad to summon the car; then he bent over, rested his forearms on his thighs and attempted to regain his breath. “I guess I'm out of shape,” he gasped.
A chime sounded and the car doors opened. He stepped inside and smelled more alcohol. Lying on the car floor was an older man in a soiled tunic. “Ignore him,” Dyppa whispered.
“Hey, sweetheart,” the man slurred. “Come here...”
Dyppa faced the door but looked down and back out of the corner of her eye. Nyk saw the man put his hand on her calf.
“I said come here ... ax'amorfa...”
She turned and kicked the derelict in the ribs. “Leave me alone, you filthy, stinking old bastard!” she yelled. “Next time you'll get it in the balls ... if you have any.”
The liftcar stopped at the platform and the doors creaked open. Nyk hustled Dyppa onto the platform. She pressed her wrist to the scanpad. “I'll order the car,” she said. “This kiosk might not be hooked up to the HL credit exchange.”
“In the lift -- I thought you said to ignore him.”
“YOU ignore him. I had to teach him a lesson.” She looked at him with her eyes filling. “He called me a whore! Do I LOOK like one? Is it ... tattooed on me somewhere?”
“Of course not, Dyppa -- he was drunk.”
“He called me ax'amorfa!” Nyk put his arm around her.
The tubecar pulled into position on the platform. Dyppa directed it to the shuttleport and it sped through the tubular roadway toward the perimeter of the dome. Nyk let out a sigh of relief. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked. She nodded. “You had the worst reaction coming out of the drug. I was frightened for you.”
“I feel fine, now. A bit tired maybe.” She leaned against him and he slipped his arm around her.
He glanced at her and saw tears. “What's the matter? That filthy old drunk?” She shook her head. “Is it Lom?”
She nodded. “I can't believe he's joined The Seven. He's not the same man I knew. Something's gone ... tenderness has been replaced by something hard -- something unfeeling.”
“I've been face-to-face with some Altian operatives. I was convinced they had no regard for life ... not for their own ... not for anyone's.”
“I saw that in Lom. He told me he didn't care if they tortured him -- if they killed him.” She turned to Nyk, lay her face against his chest and sobbed.
Nyk pet her hair. “You'll be all right. Some of this is just delayed reaction to truth drug.”
“No it isn't. I hated hearing him talk like that.” Dyppa sniffed and looked into his eyes. “I'm mourning a loss, Nyk. My one happy memory of those times is gone.” She squeezed him and kissed his cheek. “Yes, I'll be all right.” She rested her face against his chest again. Nyk stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. “I'm all right -- no more tears.”
“I hate truth drug. It's nothing less than the rape of a mind. If I'm ever in a position to request that sort of interrogation -- I won't.”
“Nyk...”
“What, Dyppa?”
“Thanks for coming with me, and thanks for listening and seeing for yourself.”
The tubecar stopped outside the shuttleport. Nyk grabbed Dyppa's hand and they ran, pushing through the crowd into the port. Wristscans admitted them to the departure lounge. Nyk sat in an aluminum chair and modulated his breathing to cool off. “I think we're safe enough here,” he said. “Non- passengers aren't admitted to this lounge.”
“Many on this planet can't afford passage,” she replied. “I should thank you for something else -- for sponsoring me into the ExoAgency and for paying my passage. When I was in training they told me it's rare for non-Floran natives to be in the Agency.”
“We welcome anyone with the talent and the motivation,” he replied. He looked out toward the runway. “The shuttle's here and the passengers are debarking. Who travels to and from here?”
“Mining and manufacturing officials, administrators and the like. The working poor is the biggest class here, but it's by no means the only one.”
“They'll board us shortly. I can't wait to be off this world and on that packet. This place gives me the creeps.”
“You should try living here.”
9 -- Another Plum Assignment
Nyk sat behind his desk manipulating his laptop computer. Seymor poked his head in. “Do you have another plum assignment for me?” Nyk asked.
“No -- I thought we could walk down to Bronfmann's for lunch. It's a mild day.”
“Give me a minute.”
“What are you doing?”
“I'm requesting a news feed -- the main feed from Altia.”
“Why Altia?”
“My visit there with Dyppa gave me a ... a sort of fascination with the place.”
“Ah, yes. How did that go?”
“I certainly understand why no one goes there on vacation. It's not a vacation spot, unless you care to sample the diverse wares of the cadre of whores in Altropolis. You know Dyppa was a hooker, don't you?”
“I've heard.”
“She told me a bit of what that lifestyle is like. Did you ever meet a prostitute, Seymor? Have a chance to talk with one?”
Seymor stepped in and pulled the door shut. “Gads, lad. Keep your voice down.”
“What?”
“I said keep your voice down!” he hissed.
“What's the matter?” Seymor glanced toward the closed door. “What?” He nodded his head in that direction. Nyk's jaw dropped. “JAQUIE?” he whispered.
“Let's talk on our way to Bronfmann's. I'll tell you the whole story. You are my assistant -- you deserve to know, so it won't come as a complete shock should anything happen to me.” Seymor grabbed a camel-hair overcoat. Nyk slipped into his suit jacket and followed to the street.
“I came here in '73,” Seymor said as they walked. “I was 40 Floran years old at the time and was an administrator in the ExoService -- a bean counter. The oversight chair asked me to go down and straighten out the mess my predecessor made. He had fucked it up good. They picked me because of my management experience. It was to be a one or two year term. I was dreading it.”
“You never went back,” Nyk said.
“No... In those days just looking at an Earth girl was enough to get you sent up. We were instructed to satisfy our needs by patronizing the local professionals.”
“Jaquie was a hooker?”
“A call girl ... an escort. Not the sort you used to see hanging around Time Square -- the high-class kind you hear about from a friend of a friend. I was living in the penthouse. I didn't buy it, Nyk -- my predecessor did with mis-appropriated funds. I should've sold it but didn't. I kept it because it was comfortable and covenient -- and, paid for. One of the other Agents gave me a card for this escort service. They operated out of a town house in the Upper West Side -- it's gone now, but it was a nice place in a nice neighborhood. I called and they sent Jaquie. I told the doorman I was expecting a visitor. He rang me and said Jaquie was on her way up.
“The elevator doors opened, she stepped out and my jaw hit the carpet. I had never seen a woman like her. She was... She was...”
“She was Black,” Nyk said.
“And, she was beautiful. Nyk -- be honest. When you first were attracted to Sukiko, how much
of it was her race?”
“Well...”
“Be honest.”
“A lot of it. I laid eyes on her and I had never seen a woman so exotic, so mysterious, so beautiful... Even today, there's something about the shape of her eyes that makes me melt whenever I look at them.”
“It was the same with me. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I fell for her hard -- I became one of her regulars. There was chemistry between us. She told me she looked forward to her visits.”
“You know they'll say whatever they think you want to hear,” Nyk remarked.
“I know they do, but I believed her. What happened next proved it. One day the doorman rang and said Jaquie was on her way up. We didn't have an assignation scheduled for that night. The door opened and she stood there. She had turned white with terror. I didn't think a Black girl could do that, but she was white and she was shaking. One of the other girls in her house had been murdered and she witnessed it. She was terrified, and she wanted out of the business. She came to me. She had the whole City to turn to, and she came to ME for help.
“I knew little of Earth law at the time, so I didn't know how to advise her. The penthouse is plenty large, so I offered her the spare room. She moved in and we lived together for about three years.”
They arrived at the deli and stood in line. Nyk ordered a pastrami sandwich and sat at a table. Seymor joined him. “Why did she move out?”
“Our relationship changed ... evolved. She wanted respectability and independence. She did not want to be a kept woman. I told her I couldn't marry her. She didn't want that, either. I suggested she work for me as a receptionist, only until she got on her feet. She never left. Don't think we keep her on because of me -- us. She's a damned good secretary.”
“She's more than that,” Nyk replied.
“I'll say. Nyk -- if you're my right hand, Jaquie's my left.”
“You still love her, don't you?”
“Of course I do, and she loves me. We visit each other fairly regularly, but we both enjoy our freedom. It's worked for us.” Nyk gazed at him as he chewed. “What's that look for?”
“Why, you old codger -- no wonder you were so accepting of my situation with Suki.” He picked up a handful of potato chips. “Does Jaquie know?” Seymor looked down. “Seymor -- does she know about us -- our mission?”
