“I fell into it.” Anson shrugged. “When I was twenty years old I found myself in a strange situation. I wasn’t particularly interested in any one subject, but I had a trick memory that would let me recall almost anything I wanted to. A hundred years ago I’d probably have been in the entertainment business, as a `memory man’ reeling off five hundred digits after I’d heard them once — I can do that, but don’t ask me how it works — or telling the audience who ran third in the five thousand meters at the 1928 Olympic Games. It took me a couple of years to realize that I was a dinosaur. People were impressed by what I knew, but they could check it all in two seconds through a terminal to the central data banks. I was born too late. So then I decided that there was still one place where I could do something unique. All the information is in the files, but the indexing is still in chaos — it lags twenty or thirty years behind the information. So I learned the index system. I can add new indices to my mental list, instantly, so I know how you get to information that’s there, even when it’s poorly indexed.”
“That’s just why I went to your service,” said Rob. “I was convinced that the knowledge I wanted was in a file somewhere, but I couldn’t drag it out through the key-words that the terminals would accept.”
“You’re the exception — most people don’t even try.” Anson leaned back in the chair. “If you were rich enough and lazy enough, you wouldn’t bother with the terminal. You’d tell me what you want, and leave it at that. It’s not cheap, though. I charge a lot — even by your standards.”
Rob raised his eyebrows. “And what are my standards?”
“You’re pretty well loaded with money, from your contracts in bridge construction.” Anson smiled disarmingly. “Don’t be annoyed. I would be a fool if I had an Information Service and didn’t use it for my own benefit. After I left Senta and the Perions, I ran a quick check on you. It was easy, because you were already listed as one of our clients.”
“Well, you’re a long way ahead of me.” Rob felt mild irritation. “I don’t have an Information Service, so I don’t know who you are, and I don’t know why you’re here. Don’t you think that you owe me an explanation for banging on my door at three in the morning?”
“Sorry.” Anson waved a conciliatory arm at Rob, inviting him to sit in the chair opposite. “You’re quite right. I should have told you why I came here at once, instead of giving you my own life history. I don’t know why it is, but we all have an irresistible urge to talk about ourselves. Beware of the man who doesn’t — he’s always trying to hide something.”
Howard Anson smiled, revealing strong, even teeth. “I came here because I’m worried, and I think you may be able to help. When you’ve heard what I have to say, you may tell me that it’s none of your business, and I’ll have to live with that. But I think it may be your business, yours and Senta Plessey’s.”
Rob was sitting quietly, watching Anson’s expression. The other man was much more concerned and serious than his casual manner suggested. “Go on. That meeting with Senta has been on my mind too.”
“I thought it might be. You may have already noticed that I’m very fond of Senta.” Anson shrugged again. “Fond is a poor word for it. I’m more than fond. She’s afraid of becoming poor, and she’s afraid of getting old, and she’s torn apart by that damned drug. But I can’t blame her for any of that. You’ve only seen her when the taliza has hold of her. When she’s free of it, she doesn’t have that self-confidence. She’s very vulnerable and very afraid.”
“That’s a more favorable version of what I heard from Corrie. I find it hard to think highly of a woman who doesn’t want to see her own daughter.”
Anson shook his head. “It’s not that simple. There are problems on both sides. After all, it was Corrie who went off to work in Atlantis, when she was still almost a child. That wasn’t Senta’s doing — she opposed it completely. I don’t think it will get us anywhere to try and understand their relationship tonight. I’ve struggled for years and it still baffles me.”
“I’ll go along with that. But you still haven’t told me why you’re here. If you don’t want to talk about Corrie, what is it that you want to discuss?”
“You know taliza. So you know what it means when I tell you that Senta has been an addict for at least twelve years. I’ve known her for eleven of those, and we’ve lived together for nearly ten. I must have helped her through a couple of thousand flashbacks like the one we saw tonight. You never know what the trigger might be. It can be something that she sees, or says, or hears. Did you notice that she didn’t trigger tonight when you said your name, only when she repeated it for herself?”
“I’ve seen taliza addicts before. You’re not telling me anything new.” Rob’s face was expressionless, but his total attention was on Anson.
“Then perhaps this will be new to you.” Howard Anson had dropped the facade of graceful charm. He was coldly serious and purposeful. “You heard and saw Senta trigger on your name tonight when she went into taliza trance. What you don’t know is that it isn’t the first time she has done it. I’ve seen the same thing, six times. What I want to know is, have you two ever met before? If so, when was it and where?”
“Never.” Rob saw Anson’s skeptical expression. “I’m quite positive of that. We haven’t met — I’d have remembered her, so would any man. In any case, she didn’t trigger on my name at all. She triggered on my father’s name, Gregor Merlin. That’s why I’ve been so puzzled, and why I’m willing to sit here and talk about it so late at night. He died long ago — before I was born.”
“Your father.” Anson drew in a deep breath. “And you are twenty-seven now, according to the file on you.”
“Twenty-seven and a half.” Rob was solemn.
“Then you think that Senta is cycling back into something that happened almost thirty years ago?” Anson tugged suddenly at his collar to loosen it, spoiling the perfect line of his crimson suit. “Do you understand the implications of that? Taliza addicts usually access the most recent memories first. It must have been an intense experience, to pull her so often that far into the past. Look, Merlin, do you know if your father was ever involved with both Joseph Morel and Darius Regulo?”
“Until tonight, I’d have said that he was not. Now, I’m not so sure. My mother died before I was born, as your files probably told you, so I have no one that I can really check it with. I met Regulo recently, and he didn’t admit to any knowledge of my mother or my father.”
“That doesn’t mean he has no such knowledge.”
“I know.” Rob sat silent for a while, his smooth face unreadable, his eyes far away. “Joseph Morel is another matter,” he said at last. “My parents worked at the Antigeria Labs in Christchurch, developing treatments for rejuvenation. Joseph Morel told me that he knew my father, but only when they were students together in Germany. Morel works for Regulo, but I’m not sure what he does for him. There’s the possibility of closer relationships that we don’t know about. I still don’t understand your interest, though, or what difference all these old facts can make.”
“All I want to do is to help Senta.” Anson’s manner had in it no trace now of the social charmer. “The treatments they have for curing taliza addiction don’t work. Maybe they’ll come across something in the next few years, maybe they won’t. At the moment, the only way that you can treat an addict is to weaken the triggers to the past. Either you treat them directly, with Lethe or some similar drug, or you avoid mention of them altogether. But it’s hard to avoid triggers if you don’t know why they are triggers. Reasonable?”
“Fair enough.” Rob nodded in agreement. “You think that Morel, Senta and I — or my father, more likely — are all tied together inside Senta’s brain. What we saw tonight would support that.”
“You, Morel, Senta, and something else. Something that I don’t understand at all. I’ve heard Senta use several different names for it — Goblins, the way we heard tonight, or the Minnies, or something that just sounds li
ke letters, the XPs, or Expies. It is never clear what they are.”
Anson leaned forward, his face grim. “I can only tell you one more thing, and it’s something that I’ve never heard directly. I’ve deduced it by piecing things together from what Senta has said at different times when the taliza has taken hold. Whatever the connection is between those names, Senta doesn’t have it anywhere in her conscious mind. And it’s some terrible connection. It’s hidden deep down, and it only comes out at all when she is in taliza-trance.”
Rob was looking skeptical, in spite of Anson’s sincerity of manner and desperate conviction. “I don’t need to tell you how wild all that sounds,” he said. “Even if it’s true, what could I possibly do about it?”
“You can come with me and see Senta, in private. Not now,” Anson added quickly, seeing Rob’s expression. “Next time that it’s convenient for you. I think you may have other word triggers that would produce different memories in Senta. I don’t know what they might be, and I’ve run out of my own ideas without producing any results at all. We can’t help Senta until we know more about her troubles, but there must be some key words that will bring things out into the open. I think you may have the knowledge that will do it, though you are not aware yourself of its significance.”
Anson’s voice was soft and persuasive, but there was no mistaking the pleading tone. Senta Plessey had found at least one supporter who would stick with her through good times and bad.
After a few moments, Rob nodded agreement.
“I don’t know if it will work, but I’ll give it a try. Not for your sake, though, and not for Senta’s. For my own.” He was frowning, with a look that added years to his face. “Ever since I was old enough to understand, I’ve wondered and puzzled about the way my parents died. I was raised by my mother’s sister, and she said that their deaths were from natural causes. But it seemed to me they were too close together, and too strange. My father was killed in a fire in the labs, from unknown causes. A few hours later, thousands of miles away, my mother died in an aircraft crash. The crash was sabotage, a bomb on board, but they never caught the people who did it. It always seemed to me that the same group might have started the fire in the labs and set the bomb in the plane. When I was old enough I tried for years to find evidence, and came up with nothing. No officials were interested in a twenty-year-old case that led nowhere and had no suspects. Finally I just stopped looking and did my best to put it behind me. But you can see where Senta’s words tonight are taking me.”
Anson stood up. “I can. I may be able to help. I can run a full check on everything to do with your parents’ deaths.”
“For something that happened twenty-seven years ago?”
“Certainly.” Anson smiled. “You’d be surprised at what we can find out. All part of the service — that’s why it costs so much. Not in this case, of course. Naturally, there’ll be no charge.”
Rob stared at Anson curiously as the other man went over to the door. “Tell me, how much of this is for Senta and how much is your own curiosity? I suspect it takes a special sort of mind to run an Information Service — and I don’t mean a trick memory.”
Anson became pensive. He rubbed at the bridge of his thin nose, then spread his hands wide. “I wish I could answer that one myself. Even if I tell you that it’s all for Senta, I know from experience that a mystery like this eats away at me, somewhere deep inside my head, until I find answers. Maybe you’ll be able to help all of us, me and you, too. When will it be convenient for you to meet again with Senta?”
“I’ve been thinking about that while we were talking. We could do it at once, but I don’t think that’s the best idea. In a couple more weeks I’ll be going up to see Regulo at his home base. That should give me more of an idea what he’s like, and how his operation there functions. I may pick up things that can help trigger Senta’s memories. Unless you object, I think we ought to wait until I get back.”
Anson didn’t hide his disappointment. “That could mean a month’s delay.”
“Possibly. But whatever it is, it has waited for at least twenty-seven years. I don’t think another month will change anything.”
Anson paused with the door open behind him. “You’re right, I guess. It can wait a few more weeks. The trouble is, I don’t know if I can wait — I was itching to come over and talk to you all evening, ever since we met at the entrance to Way Down. I don’t know why it gets to me. Sometimes, I think I’d be a lot happier as a straightforward gigolo. I have no trouble being accepted as that by most of Senta’s friends.”
I doubt if you would, thought Rob, as he closed the door. Gigolos don’t chew away at problems until four o’clock in the morning. Gigolos don’t run their own, highly profitable, businesses. Gigolos don’t stay and care for lovers who need endless care and attention. Howard Anson was something else, a wasp in a drone’s disguise. There were few like that in the world, and the ones you found had to be savored and cultivated. Senta Plessey was a fortunate woman.
Rob tried to picture her as she must have been thirty years earlier, but the image would not come into focus. When he at last fell asleep, it was Corrie whose face smiled upon his inner eye.
CHAPTER 6: A Voyage to Atlantis
It was three weeks, not two, before Rob had done enough analysis and design work on the beanstalk to feel ready for another meeting. The reference material had been more voluminous than he expected, and his first simple ideas on construction had proved unworkable. On the other hand, he had found time to look at design changes to the Spider. With a little ingenuity, there was no reason that doped silicon cable could not be extruded at the rate that Regulo wanted. All things considered, Rob was satisfied with his progress when Corrie came by to tell him that Regulo had called to find out the status.
“He’s very keen to get moving, and wants to know when you’ll be ready to talk,” she said. She was sitting in the window seat of his apartment, looking out over the breathtaking view of Rio Bay. Assigned by Regulo to remain close to Rob and hurry him along as her top priority, she had watched over his shoulder as he tried different tentative plans for skyhook construction. Rob had been at the point of telling her to get lost for a week when he realized that her comments were both constructive and useful.
She left him alone each afternoon, when she insisted on an intensive spell of physical conditioning. Seeing her now, draped along the window seat in a brief yellow leotard, Rob realized again how easy it would be to misjudge her frailty. She had the slimness of build that often went with long spells of low-gravity environment, but there was no doubt about the tone of the long, smooth muscles in her arms and legs — and he knew from personal experience how strong and supple she was.
“Do you think you could give Regulo what he wants with a video-phone session?” Corrie said, watching the clouds sail in off the ocean.
“Not really. I could do a fair amount like that, but I’d rather handle it in person.” He was still busy at the terminal. “What’s the round-trip signal delay to Atlantis?”
“Long-ish.” Corrie stretched and stood up.
“That’s a woman’s answer.”
“You go to hell, too. Let’s see. Regulo’s been moving a bit farther out over the past few weeks. Last time I checked he was nearly two million kilometers from Earth. That’s thirteen seconds, not counting relay station delays and assuming we can use straight line-of-sight transmission.”
“That’s too long. Too long for me, and you can bet that Regulo won’t want to sit with quarter-minute gaps in the conversation. He values his time much too much for that. I can be ready to leave in the morning. Can you arrange to get us out there tomorrow?”
“I can arrange for take-off then. But travel time to Atlantis will be nearly two days with the craft that we have available.”
“That’s all right. I can start sending design data to Regulo, even before we leave. He’ll have plenty to look at, getting up to speed with my assumptions and notation. I might as well send him
my list of what I think are the key problems, too.”
One of the things that Rob appreciated about Corrie was her lack of fuss. She simply nodded and said: “Better start packing. I’ll schedule us to leave here first thing in the morning. We’ll be at the port by midday.”
Riding out to Atlantis in one of Regulo’s private fleet of ships, Rob marvelled again at the wealth and influence of the man.
At every stage of the operation, the usual travel hitches simply disappeared. All connections with aircraft, shuttle and deep space vessel, all formalities of exit clearance, all questions of ticketing and finances — they were simply not there. If the shipping of raw materials to Earth and Moon, and that of finished products around the whole System, went as smoothly as this, Regulo earned every fraction of his two percent. No wonder that the Earth authorities and the United Space Federation, tangled in regulations and bureaucratic inefficiencies, could not keep up with the man. Corrie had described some of their efforts to control him, but he always kept a couple of moves ahead of them; and, apart from anything else, they really needed the efficient service that only Regulo Enterprises seemed able to provide. Rob’s respect for the old man’s talents grew and grew.
“It’s no good fidgeting,” Corrie said in answer to Rob’s impatient question. “Sit there and contemplate your navel. It will be another hour before we get there.”
They had moved out well past the Moon, heading away from the Sun. Atlantis was somewhere ahead of them, just off the plane of the ecliptic.
“We’ll soon be near enough for visible contact,” she went on. “We ought to get a lot of back-scattered light from this angle, so it will be easy to see.”
Rob was sitting by the forward screen, the electronic magnification turned up to the maximum. Nothing showed there but liberal quantities of random noise, producing a snow-storm effect on the display. “We’re less than twenty thousand kilometers out, according to the radar data,” he complained. “If that figure of a two-kilometer diameter is accurate, it should be showing better than twenty seconds of arc. We ought to be seeing it easily with this magnification — so where is it?”
The Web Between the Worlds Page 9
