Two centuries rolled away. They were standing at the threshold of a Victorian living room, complete with sideboard, overstuffed horsehair settee, potted aspidistra in one corner, and, in another, a hanging cage containing a large blue-black cockatoo with a red crest. At the center of the room stood five wooden-backed chairs grouped around a low table. On one of the chairs, quietly reading, sat a small, fair-haired woman.
She looked up. "You are late." Her voice was like a child's voice, but cool and precise.
"Yes. I'm very sorry." Sebastian Vandermond was awkward and apologetic, shambling forward to stand outside the circle of chairs.
The woman did not attempt to stand. Instead she gestured to the chairs. "If you please, be seated." Vandermond started forward with the other two. "Sebastian! Your hat."
"Oh, yes. I'm sorry, Sabrina, I forgot about it. I'll take it off at once." Vandermond hurried back across the room. His imperious voice had become subdued and placatory.
The woman smiled at Mike and Jake. "I am Sabrina Vandermond. May I offer you refreshment? Tea, perhaps?"
"That would be very acceptable," Jake said. The two men looked at the table surface. There was no sign of serving hatches or Chill robots.
"Good. Tea, then, Sebastian. For four." Sabrina placed the document she had been reading on the side table, leaned back, and smiled at Mike and Jake as Sebastian Vandermond hurried out. "He means well, you know, but he needs a firm hand."
"Is he your brother?" Mike asked.
"That's right. My little brother. But he grew." Hazel eyes, laugh lines prominent at their corners, beamed at the two Traders. She straightened the little corsage of blue flowers on her long dove-gray dress, sighed, and settled back in her chair. "Well, now, this is certainly a pleasure. It has been so long since we have had Traders visiting. You must tell me all about your travels, where you have been, what each of you has been doing. I want to hear everything."
Was anyone sane in Skeleton City—anyone at all? Mike found himself drinking tea from a delicate porcelain cup and locked in a polite but surrealistic conversation with an elegant, mild-eyed woman who wanted to hear every detail of Trader life. Sabrina Vandermond asked about their training, their missions, and their home base. She wanted to know what they ate, how they dressed, where they slept, what they did for recreation. She questioned them about Trader negotiation methods, Trader marriage, the Trader hierarchy, and Trader traditions. Every word they spoke seemed to fascinate her, and when they flagged she prompted them with endless questions. Finally, after an hour and a half, the cockatoo over in the corner flapped its wings and uttered a harsh squawk.
Sabrina looked at her watch, a delicate amethyst pendant on a silver chain around her neck. "Oh, dear. I'm afraid Lucifer is right. It is late, and I know you have other commitments. But this has been so very interesting, I quite forgot the time." She turned to Sebastian Vandermond. Through all the conversation he had sat slumped at her side, speaking only when she prompted him.
"Now, Sebastian, please take our guests back to Old-Billy. Unless"—she turned to Mike and Jake—"there is something that I could help you with here?"
Mike responded before Jake could make any comment. "Your home is delightful. I wonder if we might look around it more fully before we leave?"
"Why, I am flattered." Sabrina Vandermond stood up, revealing that she was indeed a tiny woman, the top of her head no higher than Jake's shoulder. "Come with me. Sebastian, if you will take care of the tea things while we are gone . . ."
She led them through half a dozen rooms, each decorated with the same care and taste. No piece of furniture spoke of the present century, and few of the previous one. Only the library told a different story. The long rows of walnut and mahogany bookcases held thousands of books and data cubes. Mike wandered along the well-dusted rows, eyeing volumes and indices. They described microengineering methods in elaborate detail.
"You are an engineer?" he asked at last. "From these references . . ."
That provoked a silvery laugh. "Good heavens, no." Sabrina Vandermond came to stand by his side. "Those belong to Sebastian. He is an engineer—some say a very good one. My own background is far less distinguished. I'm nothing more than a simple, struggling chemist and would-be biologist. See, my side of the library is over there." She pointed to a rack of high-density data cubes and a single display, and shook her carefully-groomed head. "Little of it, you see, and little to interest you. It is convenient to have our libraries close together, since my brother helps me when I find something beyond me; which happens, I fear, all too often."
Mike wandered across to Sabrina Vandermond's library and glanced at the program and data file. The hundred or so data storage units each covered a specific subject and were alphabetically ordered. But if any were relevant to the brain of the Diamond Fly, Mike was unable to make that connection. He concentrated on one section of the rack and memorized the written labels.
Diffusion of lattice vacancies across grain boundaries stood next to Energy levels and orbitals of complex molecules. Enzymatic chopping for inorganic materials followed, and beyond that a program cube, Fermi surfaces in face-centered and body-centered cubic cells.
"Dull labors, I'm afraid." Sabrina placed her hand possessively on Mike's arm, easing him away from the storage rack and back toward the main living room. "I don't want to bore you with such things. But I do so enjoy your company. I know you are going to be very busy, but if you can somehow find any spare time to drop in, I would be absolutely delighted."
They were ushered on through the double doors. Sebastian Vandermond was standing outside, already cloaked and hatted. "Right. We must hurry." He strode on ahead of them, big, bulky, commanding. "We are already late. Old-Billy Waters is waiting."
The imperious manner, suppressed for nearly two hours, was back in full flower.
* * *
Old-Billy Waters had certainly not lied about one thing: he was no experienced negotiator. The preliminaries that should have taken a few minutes lasted for three hours; it was late afternoon when Waters returned Mike and Jake to their accommodation on the middle level of Raincloud's building.
As soon as they were alone, Mike made an inspection of their rooms. Jake went straight into the bathroom. When Mike joined him he was already at work on the tiny communicator set.
"On the way," he said. "I didn't want to risk telemetry being intercepted, so I gave our Fly the homing command. Anything new?"
Mike shook his head. "Same Flies, same positions. Nothing here in the bathroom. As a matter of interest, just where did you plant our Fly?"
"Right in the middle of the ugliest mural, where one of the savages was cutting somebody's head off. No one would look at that if they didn't have to." Jake peered into the thumbnail-sized screen of the communicator. "Here we come."
The Diamond Fly appeared through the open door and flew straight for the set that Jake was holding. It settled into a recess on the surface and stopped moving.
"Nearly four hours recorded," Jake said. "What do you want to search for?"
"How about audio references to 'Traders,' or to either of our names?"
"Easy enough. And we'll want associated video. I'll ask for everything from twenty seconds before each reference to the point where we decide to cut it." Jake bent over and set the search parameters with a tiny pointed stylus. Both men watched in silence for half a minute.
"Nothing," Mike was starting to say, when the little Screen flickered and a color image appeared.
The room showed Martin Raincloud and Sabrina Vandermond, facing each other on two settees. Sabrina was wearing only a loose robe and had her back to the recording instrument. Raincloud, bare to the waist, was shaking his head.
"—to waste more time. You assured me a hundred times that everything was guaranteed, that once the Traders were here you could not fail."
"And I still say that." Sabrina was as calm and ladylike as ever. "I guarantee the results. But now that I have met with the two Traders—which,
may I remind you, you did not want me to do—I am suggesting that we change the procedure a little. Kallario would probably be all right if we went ahead with the original plan, but I am less sure of Asparian. He was far too interested in my library, and studied it too closely. If I thought there was even the slightest suspicion that he understood enzymatic cutting and splicing methods . . ."
"What are you suggesting? That we proceed with Kallario alone, and dispose of Asparian permanently?"
"I think not." Sabrina fingered a tiny amethyst earring, her head cocked to one side. "We proceed," she said at last. "Immediately. Once the growth is complete, there is no danger at all that Asparian will make any brilliant and undesirable inferences. But to assure success, we must move immediately to hold the Traders in close confinement. And we plant the seed under close supervision."
"But if we confine them here they will want to know everything."
"Not at all. We will provide them with a bogus reason for staying in their quarters—a threat against their lives, a mad assassin loose in Skeleton City, a violent storm, anything. Within three days, I will know that the seed is planted and growing correctly inside them. After that—" She shrugged. "—they may return home anytime. Within thirty days the structure will be complete and in operation."
"I'm still not sure. Suppose it were to be detected." Martin Raincloud was staring at the ceiling, mouth pouting.
"After a dozen tests here, you are still unsure. Will you ever be sure?"
"There were side effects."
"Negligible ones. Three died. We can explain that. The rest averaged thirty or forty points decrease in IQ, but if I had not pointed that out to you, you would not have noticed. Your Traders will be less intelligent; so much the better. And you will have spies within the Trader headquarters itself, guided wherever you want and reporting anything you need. The first of many! You have seen what can be accomplished with the limited capabilities of the flying probes. Imagine that multiplied a hundredfold—a thousandfold."
Raincloud was nodding slowly. "Very well. We will proceed."
"Immediately!"
"Immediately. When they return from negotiation with Old-Billy, I will give orders that they are not to leave this building. And tonight, while they are sleeping, you will proceed with insertion of the seed."
The image flickered. Mike and Jake both turned to stare at the door, imagining it already guarded.
"How long ago?" Mike asked.
Jake was flicking the tiny controls. His face had gone gray. "That segment was recorded less than half an hour ago. Come on. We have to get out of here and call for a Smash rescue."
"How? If the exits are guarded, we'll never make it to an open area."
"We have to try. Maybe Raincloud hasn't given the order yet."
Mike stuffed the Fly and communicator into his pocket. They started for the door, then both hesitated.
"Casually," Jake said. He was shivering. "And slow. If we see we're blocked, we come back here."
The building had a narrow staircase that ran internally, beside the external up and down escalators. The living quarters assigned to Mike and Jake were halfway up, a thousand feet above ground level. They did not want to use the escalators. They crept down the staircase, story by story, for nearly four hundred feet, until they could finally see through the open latticework of the building to the surface.
Jake had been leading the way. He stopped and peered down. "We're too late. Look," he whispered.
A group of painted men was standing at the exit point of the downward escalator. As the Traders watched, four of them moved across to stand at the foot of the upward-moving escalator.
"Keep going on this staircase?"
Mike shook his head. "If they're guarding the escalator, they're on the stairs, too. Smell that?" A faint odor of burning dope was carrying up to them around the curve. "They're there. And I think I hear them. They're coming this way."
"What about the crosswalks?"
"Too conspicuous. They'd be sure to see us from below."
"What, then? They've got us."
"Up."
"To our rooms?"
"No. All the way up." Mike was already moving toward the escalator. "If we go to our rooms, they'll come and get us. We have to generate some bargaining power."
"Raincloud?"
"The only thing I can think of. If he's up there, we need him as our hostage."
The two Traders moved onto the escalator. Peering over the edge, Mike saw the group below still standing at the base. He ducked back. The escalator would give some shielding, and with luck no one would think to look straight up. Even if they did, in the late afternoon light they might not see Mike and Jake.
Lots of ifs; lots of maybes. Mike was about to say that to Jake Kallario when he saw a new expression on the other man's face. It was fear, a dreadful, consuming fear. Mike could not discuss with him the possibilities of failure.
He looked upward. They were at the top of the escalator, and the open staircase lay ahead. Now they would be far more visible from the ground.
The gale that Old-Billy Waters had predicted was not far off. Mike, creeping up the spiral staircase with one hand on the smooth wall, felt the building quivering under the lashing of the wind. The sky above was darkening. The top hundred feet of the building stood in lonely illumination, catching the last rays of the setting sun.
Outside the entrance to Raincloud's chambers Mike paused for breath. There were faint shouts, far below. Or was it imagination? Nothing would be audible above the wind. At his side Jake Kallario stood panting, nostrils dilated and eyes wild. He pushed past Mike, jerked open the door, and plunged through.
For a moment Mike thought that the living quarters were deserted. Then there was a startled grunt from the other room. Martin Raincloud, bare chested, had heard the noise and come bouncing in through the curtained entrance at the far end.
He took one look at the Traders and turned to run. Jake Kallario was a lot faster. By the time the cityboss was at the curtain, Kallario had dashed to the display, ripped a steel dagger loose, and grabbed Raincloud by the throat. "Asparian." His voice was shaking. "Find her. Take a look in the other room."
Mike grabbed a tomahawk for himself. He went warily through into the small display room beyond the curtain. Sabrina Vandermond was there. When she saw the weapon she raised her hands above her head.
"What is all this?" Her voice was calm. "I must say, I hope you have an explanation for such conduct."
Mike stepped to her side and gestured to the curtain. "Through there. Don't bother to make up lies for us."
With the tomahawk poised over her she walked in front of him. In the other room, Jake Kallario had his knife at Martin Raincloud's throat.
"Jake! Steady!" Mike saw murder in his companion's eye. The point of the knife was drawing blood, probing deeper in to the thick neck. "Remember, we need hostages, not corpses."
Kallario crouched behind Raincloud. The knife drew back a fraction of an inch and slid around to the front of the neck. "I ought to slit your fat throat. And that murderous bitch's, too." His hand was trembling.
"And then what, Jake?" Mike moved Sabrina Vandermond forward. "You cut his throat, and then his friends come along and cut yours. And what does that do for us? Not a thing." Mike bent forward and spoke to the motionless prisoner. "Raincloud, we're going up to the roof now. Is that car of yours ready to fly?"
Raincloud nodded, his pop eyes hypnotized by the gleaming knife. "Yes." His voice was a hoarse whisper. "Yes, it's all prepared. Fully fuelled. Don't cut me."
"You're a miserable coward, Martin," Sabrina Vandermond said. "And you fools will never get away," she added to the Traders.
"We'll see. Lead the way, Raincloud." Kallario whipped the knife clear of Martin Raincloud's neck and pressed its point hard against the middle of his bare back. "If anything happens to me, it happens to you first. Asparian, you take care of that whore."
A short flight of stairs led to a trapdoor
and the open roof. While Jake Kallario prodded Raincloud toward the aircar, Mike took Sabrina Vandermond by the arm and made a quick detour to the edge of the roof. He grasped the rail beyond the shallow lip and looked over. Half a dozen dark dots showed against the silver ribbon below. They were moving at a run up the escalator.
"They're coming, Asparian," Sabrina said. "You'll never get away. Give up now, and I'll guarantee that you are not harmed."
"Sure. How many dead men have trusted you?" Mike hurried back toward the little aircar. Jake Kallario already had the cockpit open. The other two were inside, and Raincloud, seated in front of Jake, was at the controls. The knife was pricking the neck of the cityboss.
"They're coming," Mike shouted. "Let's get out of here." He was a few feet away from the aircar, pushing Sabrina in front of him and moving fast. He lifted her to the edge of the wing just as the cockpit slammed shut in front of his nose.
"Jake!" Mike hammered on the glass. "What the hell are you doing?"
For reply Kallario pointed to the car's cramped interior and shook his head. "Two people." He was smiling as he mouthed the words. "Only two people. Tough luck, Mike. Good-bye."
He waved. At the same moment, Sabrina Vandermond broke from Mike's grasp and ran for the trapdoor.
The rocket jets ignited, firing down for vertical takeoff. A wash of orange fire spread out from the aircar, bathing Mike's feet with flame. The searing flood caught Sabrina, halfway down the trapdoor, at waist height. It set alight her loose robe. She screamed once and vanished in a pillar of golden flame.
Mike turned and ran. As a flash of heat frizzled his hair, he threw himself over the lip of the roof. His hands caught and held the thin guard rail as his body somersaulted out, over, and down, turning until his hips smacked against the side wall of the building. A sheet of white fire flashed out above him, searing the backs of his hands. Mike hung on, facing out into space, and kicked off his burning shoes. They curved out, away from the building, and fell smoldering into darkness.
Trader's World Page 22
