The Sagittarius Whorl: Book Three of the Rampart Worlds Trilogy

by Julian May

  “I can’t compromise my Haluk tie-in.”

  “You don’t have to. Any questions I ask that you don’t want to answer—don’t. We can still do business.”

  “Maybe.” He was twiddling the card again, apparently weighing the pros and cons. As he’d observed, it was a nice amount of money.

  I said, “If you talk to me, you’ll be just another confidential source. CHW can’t touch you. As you pointed out, you’re an important man here on Phlegethon.”

  “Damn straight,” said Barky Tregarth, grinning. “You try anything cute, you’re one dead Joru fucker.”

  I nodded submissively. “I have a Hogan miniature psychotronic interrogation device in my case—useless for prying the truth out of reluctant subjects, but it will indicate whether a cooperative person is telling the truth. You can sit right here and tell me about your adventure in the Haluk Cluster—that’s the thing I’m most interested in—then add whatever else you wish to tell me about Haluk activity in the Sag. I can check your veracity with a single question: ‘Is everything you’ve said the truth?’ If the machine confirms your reply, I’ll activate the plastic. You’ll be richer by four million. What do you say?”

  “What the hey! Why not? You know, it’s kinda gratifying to finally find somebody who believes that I made the Big Trip.”

  A waitress came up behind me and asked if we wanted another round of drinks.

  Barky gave her a big smile. “Another stein of Peg-Leg for me, Lola. And my friend …”

  “Jack Daniel’s,” I said. “Straight up.”

  “I thought Joru didn’t like whiskey,” the waitress said.

  “It is an acquired taste,” I replied over my shoulder, “and I’ve just acquired it.”

  It was not so much the great distance to the Haluk Cluster that had deterred exploration by the Commonwealth of Human Worlds so much as the uselessness of the enterprise. The implacably hostile aliens wanted nothing to do with humanity, and in the early days of human galactic exploration the Haluk backed up their antipathy with enough firepower to deter CHW survey ships and curious adventurers.

  Later, after Galapharma AC began to exploit the Perseus Spur and faced attacks from Haluk colonies there, the big Concern and Zone Patrol got tough. Humans and Haluk fought a brief interstellar battle near the human colony of Nogawa-Krupp, and the aliens were soundly defeated. Facing the potential annihilation of their eleven colonial planets, the Haluk signed an armistice. One of its terms halted their Milky Way expansion; another precluded human exploration of the Haluk Cluster.

  Barky Tregarth figured he had a chance of making the trip and coming back alive because he was a smuggler, not a representative of a Concern or CHW. The Haluk desperately needed the superior technical equipment made by humanity, and the only way to get it was through contraband dealers like Barky. Most human outlaw traders dealt with the Haluk in deep space; but a handful of the most favored made brief visits to Haluk Spur colonies.

  One of the favored ones was Barky.

  Without telling his wagering pals, he prevailed upon a Haluk business acquaintance on Artiuk to provide him with a letter of introduction. Then he returned to his base on the freesoil planet Yakima-Two, a notorious smuggler hangout, and made his wager. It was a very large one.

  He fitted his starship, which was over twice the size of Makebate, with oversized fuel cells as I had done, and still had enough room left in the hold for a cargo that he thought would ensure him a warm welcome once he arrived. He loaded his ship with high-end computers, force-field generators, portable antimatter powerplants, programmable virtual-reality ticklesuits, a single Bodascon ULD engine of the latest type, and 1,500 Japanese silk kimonos in subtle colors, size okii, highly coveted by Haluk males as wedding garments.

  Then he set off where no human had gone before.

  Even thirty-five years ago the scanner technology on Barky’s ship was hugely superior to that of the Haluk. He managed to elude all of their patrols, he found the solar system where the cousin of his Artiuk acquaintance resided, and after some very fast talking he was allowed to come landside in his gig.

  The cousin, whose name was Ratumiak, was on the personal staff of the planetary governor and a person of considerable influence. He advised Barky to forget any notion of selling his valuable cargo. Instead, the smuggler presented everything to the governor as a gift. On Ratumiak’s advice, Barky told the Haluk official the barebones truth: that he had made the trip on a bet.

  The governor thought that was hilarious.

  He compared Barky’s lunatic exploit to a similar jaunt by a legendary Haluk hero and declared that the bold human voyager would be treated as an honored guest. Barky got a grand tour of the Haluk world and asked a lot of questions about the alien civilization. His roguish sense of humor, snarky jabs at Commonwealth policies, and shocking tales of Concern corruption made a great hit with his hosts, who showered him with gifts—some of great intrinsic value, including a diamond ear-stud from Ratumiak and the fossil set in platinum given to him by the governor.

  Barky had a marvelous time during his eighteen-day stay and didn’t mind that most Haluk looked on him as an entertaining freak. Amazingly, a few Haluk females found him sexually appealing, and taught him several astonishing things he would later find useful in his love-life. When it was time to depart, he was bid a cordial farewell and warned never to return to the Haluk Cluster under pain of death.

  He set off for the Milky Way and had nearly made it back safely to his base on Yakima-Two when he was attacked by a human pirate ship. Its scanners were even better than Barky’s, and its ship faster and better armed. The bandits forced Barky to surrender, boarded, and stole all of the Haluk gifts except the fossil, which Barky managed to detach from its chain and conceal in a bodily orifice. Then the pirates stole his ship, too.

  He was set adrift in a lifeboat and eventually rescued by a Rampart freighter, which dropped him off on Hadrach, from which he made his way home to Yakima-Two and the heartbreaking discovery that he wasn’t going to collect on the big bet.

  “That was really an unfortunate happenstance,” I said as he finished his tale. “Losing your ship on top of everything.”

  “Oh, I got that back a year or so later with a little help from my friends,” he said. “I knew who’d taken it, you see. But the alien jewelry and stuff were long since disposed of.” He shrugged. “Then I got busted by the patrol and jugged on Tyrins. I think you know the rest of the story.” The ironic smile again. “I escaped, knocked around the galaxy, ended up here, got lucky. Just imagine my surprise when the Haluk showed up in the Sag. They hadn’t forgotten me, either. We do good business. I intend to keep on doing good business.” The smile turned cold, and once again I felt the frisson of uneasiness.

  The waitress came up behind me again and asked if we’d like another round.

  “A Peg-Leg for me, Lola,” Barky said. He seemed relaxed and amiable. “And some of my private-stock whiskey for my friend, here. The Wild Turkey Single-Barrel.” She left us, and he said to me, “You’ll really get a kick out of it. Best I ever tasted.”

  “I’ve heard of it, never tried it.”

  He held out the EFT card. “You ready to validate this now?”

  “Just a few more questions. Did the Haluk planet you visited seem heavily populated?”

  “You better believe it. High-rise buildings packed to the rafters in the cities, affluent folks in the suburbs living in little cottages on handkerchief-sized plots. Ratumiak told me his planet had a population of nearly twelve thousand million. Other worlds were even worse.”

  “How many inhabited worlds were there in the cluster?”

  “Around thirty thousand, Ratty said. Ideally, Haluk need T-2 worlds. They’d already colonized all of those, plus all of the T-1’s and a few T-3’s that weren’t too hopeless. But they’d really run out of suitable land. That’s why they made the big jump to our galaxy, even though it was a terrible drain on the economy.”

  I had already
done the horrifying calculation in my head. Twelve billion times thirty thousand equals … 360 trillion Haluk? It was forty times the population of galactic humanity!

  “Uh—do you know how they manage to mine transactinides without sophisticated robotics?”

  His expression turned grim. “The lepidos do it. You know, the thick-skinned intermediate racial morph. Even in heavy armor, the poor bastards don’t live long on R-class planets. They’re convicts. Gracile-phase cons work in the orbiting collection stations until they go lep. Then it’s down to the mines. A lepido miner turns up its toes, the supers retrieve the armor, send somebody else down.”

  “Appalling.”

  He shrugged. “Different strokes for different folks. It’s gotta be a dandy crime deterrent.”

  “Do the Haluk have a large supply of ultraheavy elements?”

  “Don’t have a clue.”

  “Would you say they’re highly industrialized?”

  “You bet. Not up to human standards when I was in the cluster, but I understand that’s changed. Haluk are quick on the uptake. They’re good at copying our technology. Even make improvements on the original.”

  Well, we had proof of that already. One of my friends had compared Haluk ingenuity to that of the preindustrial Japanese.

  “Drinks, gents.” Lola the waitress set them down.

  I thanked her over my shoulder. “One last question, Barky.” Then I’d hook him to the little machine and—zotz! I’d modified my earlier plan slightly. Instead of slipping him a mickey, I’d modified the interrogation device to deliver a taser bolt. If I acted fast, I could have both of us behind a hemispherical force-field shield within seconds. Then out the back door and into the elevator …

  “Try the Wild Turkey,” he urged. “Let me know what you think.”

  I sipped the exquisite bourbon through my mask’s integral straw—not the best way to savor one of Earth’s premium spirits, but the bouquet came through with a vengeance. “Superb,” I said. “One of the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  “I think so, too. What’s your last question?”

  “What are the Haluk doing here in the Sagittarius Whorl?”

  “Grabbing transactinides. They figure if we start experiencing a shortage, they can jack up their prices.”

  “It seems logical,” I said. “Are you ready to undergo the truth test?” I took out the little machine and set it on the table right next to the EFT card. Barky had put it down when his fresh schooner of beer arrived.

  “I don’t think I’d better,” he said, pushing the card toward me. “Our deal is off, Citizen Frost. But it was fun talking to you.” He raised his voice. “Lola!”

  Oh, shit. The force-field projector was in a pocket behind my robe’s front scapular drape. I tried to reach for it, but my arm suddenly wasn’t working. Neither were my leg muscles when I tried to jump to my feet. Earlier, when I’d been forced to visualize the failure of my grand scheme, Ram Mahtani had played the villain’s part. But Ram wasn’t the one who had worked with Barky Tregarth to play me for a sucker.

  The waitress named Lola came around the table and for the first time I got a good look at her. She was drop-dead gorgeous, with glossy black hair that had a white blaze at the left temple.

  “Dolores da Gama?” I managed to whisper. “You slipped me a mickey?”

  “It seemed the simplest course,” the demiclone said complacently, “with all the body armor you’re wearing. The drug is a harmless and effective way to bring you down.”

  Barky was standing beside her. “My bouncers will take him to your starship gig. It was great doing business with you, Lola. You make a pretty good waitress. Sure you don’t want a job?”

  Dolores da Gama laughed richly and gave him a playful smack on his taut, leather-covered buns. I felt strong hands grip me, hoist me upright, move me toward the rear door. Dolores was utilizing my own abduction scheme.

  “Why …” I gasped. “Why … want me alive?”

  “We’ll think of something wonderful, sweetie.” Her smile was megawatt bright in my fading vision.

  “How … find me here?”

  “Your gunfight with our corsairs. One of the pilots transmitted your starship conformation and fuel-trace signature to our base on Amenti before you blasted her out of the sky. Your ship is unique. We sent out other corsairs to track you to Phlegethon.”

  We were in the elevator, going up. I was seeing the world through a shrinking tunnel embedded in fog. “But how did … you get here so quick?”

  “I left Earth the day after you escaped from us. So did other Haluk agents. The massive fuel-bunker refit on your ship showed your intent to undertake a long, stealthy voyage. It was a toss-up which way you’d go—either the Spur, for a penetration of our cluster, or the Whorl. We believed you might have found out about our campaign against Sheltok. Other Haluk were waiting for you near Seriphos and Tyrins, in case you topped off your tanks at either planet before leaving the galaxy. I drew the Sag assignment and went to Amenti with my assistants. And suddenly, there you were. Potting our people in cold blood. You’re a ruthless man, Asahel Frost.”

  “What happen … real Dolores? You show her … any bloody compassion?”

  We were out of the elevator, heading for a gig. I had no doubt that a fast Haluk starship was waiting in orbit, hidden with a dissimulator field a little less efficient than Makebate’s.

  My head in its Joru makeup wobbled helplessly. In another minute I’d pass out, and she seemed to know it. “You’re about to experience what Dolores did. It won’t be unpleasant. But before you sleep, here’s a little extra information to give you pleasant dreams. We have another reason for stealing transactinides: our ships will need extra fuel for the invasion.”

  “I knew that,” I said, and faded to black.

  Chapter 7

  I expected they would take me to their secret base on Amenti—an asteroid station abandoned nearly eighty years ago by Sheltok—or even to a Haluk colony in the Perseus Spur. Instead, as I discovered much later, they brought me back to Toronto, to the commercial and residential tower where they had established their embassy and secure living quarters.

  There I was demicloned. Twice. The complicated process took about seven months. When I was finally released from the dystasis tank it was mid-November, although I didn’t learn the date right away.

  I had the superficial appearance of a Haluk, a side effect of the preliminary phase of the demiclone process. The disorienting discovery didn’t prevent me from executing the Helly Frost replica who shared my recovery room—the demiclone who had lived most of his life as a Haluk. But another perfect duplicate of me was already at large, committing God knows what sort of crimes in my name. The first impostor was a renegade human being, collaborating with the aliens.

  I hadn’t had much time to speculate on the identity of Fake Helly I. When the medical device monitoring Fake Helly II flat-lined, it triggered an alarm. Rather slow on the uptake, four blue-skinned xenos took their own sweet time coming to the recovery room to see what had happened. None wore translators. Two of the Haluk were meditechs, the same ones who had attended me and Fake Helly II while we recuperated from dystasis. The other pair were uniformed embassy guards armed with Ivanov stun-pistols.

  The aliens stood in a close group, about ten feet away from me. They had me backed up against the tall windows. I’d opened the drapes earlier to determine my whereabouts, and outside was a nightscape of downtown Toronto, a glittering forest of colored glass towers.

  The taller guard barked at me in his own language. “Human! Do not move!”

  I understood. With two laser targeting dots shining on my sternum, it was easy. I stood still.

  The female medic, Avilik, darted to the bed where the dead demiclone lay and checked out the corpse with a diagnosticon. She uttered a horrified expletive, then came away from the bed and spoke to me in the Haluk tongue. “Wah! What have you done? Ru Balakalak is not only dead, he is blah blah!”

  “Ye
ah. He sure as hell is,” I replied in English. My tongue felt funny and my teeth seemed to be too far apart. The larynx was mine, but it was laboring under some exotic handicap. My voice was gravelly and deeply resonant, almost Louis Armstrongesque. I continued in execrable Halukese. “This one did it! Ru Balakalak will not live again by dystasis. This one thinks that is very, very good!” I switched back to English. “And fuck you all very much.”

  The four of them exclaimed, “Wah!”

  Then Avilik began to jabber rapidly with her male colleague, whose name was Miruviak. I only understood one word in ten of the agitated conversation, but the general tenor seemed to be that some maximal manure would impact the rotor when the Servant of Servants found out about the catastrophe. Damage control was the order of the day.

  I was stark naked. My general bodily contour was still sturdily human, not nearly so willowy as that of normal Haluk males. I had a narrow waist and four-fingered hands without nails. My skin was sky-blue, except for the parts of me smeared with my own blood. My chest, arms, and upper legs were patterned with intricate ridges almost like glossy scars, some of them nicely marked with gold. I had seen my face briefly in a mirror before the aliens found me. By human standards I was hideous. I had short silvery hair. My normally green eyes were now a brilliant sapphire, with huge irises and no visible whites. My eye sockets were slightly smaller than those of a true Haluk, but any ordinary human observer would take me for a genuine blueberry.

  Hey, all Haluk look alike.

  I held a bloody towel to the streaming wound at the back of my neck. It marked the place where I’d hacked out a small shocker device, implanted in the skin at the base of my skull for the purpose of controlling me. It hadn’t.

  Avilik and Miruviak finished talking and stared at me balefully. The big guard rapped out a question to them in unintelligible Halukese. Probably: “Should I stun this fucker’s ass now?”

  “Don’t shoot!” said Avilik. “Don’t hurt him!”