The Sagittarius Whorl: Book Three of the Rampart Worlds Trilogy

by Julian May

  That explained his hesitation about the Sheltok report. He’d have to hack it out of the Rampart database, along with my phone files. I had no doubt that he’d do the job immaculately.

  “I suppose Lotte, Cassius, and Hector were deep-sixed along with you,” I said.

  “Correct. They’re all living in the area, retired and bored stiff. You got something in mind?”

  “I’ll need the entire staff of your old Department of Special Projects immediately—provided I can pull off a certain ploy over at Rampart this morning. Put your folks on alert, but warn them it’s gonna be balls-to-the-walls this time. I suspect Rampart may be infested with other demiclones besides Fake Helly. You and your gang may have to extract them, and the job just might begin this afternoon.”

  “Christ. Okay, I’ll get on it. Anything else?”

  “Can you get hold of any kind of hopper at all?”

  “Cassius has a Tupo he keeps at Toronto Island Airport. Kind of slow and not armed. I’m sure he’d—”

  Joanna had come into the kitchen and was listening shamelessly.

  I said, “Get it if you can, but I really need that other stuff. Come as soon as possible. We’ll sort everything out when you get here.”

  “Okay. It’ll be damned good to see you again, Helly.”

  “Oh, no it won’t,” I said, and hit the End pad of my phone.

  Joanna was wearing jeans, a metallic gold turtleneck, and a loosely knit white sweater with a shawl collar.

  “You didn’t show yourself to your friend?”

  “Not everyone thinks the Haluk form is beautiful.”

  “All of you isn’t,” she said, smiling slyly. “Only the essentials.”

  “Well, Karl Nazarian is a tough old buzzard, but I still want to reintroduce myself to him tactfully. That goes for our other guests as well. I may need your assistance.”

  “Oh, my. Then you’d better strengthen my resolve by plying me with a pot of strong hot coffee. You do remember how to make it? If not, I’m open to other inducements.”

  “Are you, indeed,” I murmured. “Let’s induce.”

  A taxi carrying Beatrice Mangan and Efrem Sontag arrived shortly after seven. As we had arranged it, I lurked in the upstairs sitting room while Joanna gave Bea and the Delegate coffee, peppermint tea, and muffins with Bonne Maman black cherry preserves. After about ten minutes Joanna brought Bea up with her equipment to do the DNA test. The astonishment of my former ICS colleague was brief and her interest in my exotic body entirely clinical.

  Joanna stood by during the blood-drawing and cursory physical exam. I absolutely refused to strip down.

  “Damn,” said Bea Mangan. Then she smiled at Joanna.

  I swear Bea knew. How do women do that …?

  Working with her impressive machine on the table in front of the blank holoscreen, Bea quickly developed a genetic profile from my biosample, then compared it with the one in her ICS files, studying screen after screen of esoteric data.

  “Fascinating! It’s you all right, Helly, but overlaid with suppressing sequences from your late Haluk demiclone. You’re a genetic palimpsest, my man. A human parchment with the original writing not quite erased, written over with something terribly new.”

  Joanna laughed appreciatively. “What a cogent metaphor.”

  “I hate scholarly jokes,” I growled, “particularly when I’m the butt. Can a layman make sense of this analysis? Will we be able to use it to prove my identity to people like Ef Sontag and Adam Stanislawski, who don’t know anything about advanced biology?”

  “Stanislawski?” Bea said. “You have been busy.”

  “He’ll be here any minute, and so will Karl.”

  “Oh, dear,” Joanna said. “I hope they’re not hungry. Bea and Ef ate the last of the muffins, and there’s not much else in the house.”

  “Hospitality,” I muttered, “is the least of our worries.”

  Bea did something with the machine. “Look here, then. We start over. Enter Original Helly’s DNA, comme ça. Now enter Halukoid Helly’s DNA, comme ça. Tap the correlation pad, then hit précis, et voilà! Go ahead, do it yourself.”

  She walked me through it. At the end the readout said: POSITIVE MATCH PLUS 1623 ANOMALOUS CODING SEQUENCES SUBSTITUTED FOR PORTIONS OF NORMALLY NONCODING GENETIC MATERIAL. DO YOU WISH CODON-BY-CODON BREAKDOWN OF ANOMALIES? Y/N.

  I told it N.

  “Looks good, Bea. Thank you. Can I keep the machine with me today while I confer with some people?”

  “You aren’t getting rid of me that easily,” she said. “If you hope to use that data to convince others of your identity, you’ll need a live expert witness to vouch for it. Otherwise you might as well be demonstrating a video game. I volunteer my unimpeachable authority for as long as you need me. I’ll operate the psychotronic device, too, if you like.”

  “Bea … there’s no way I can say how grateful I am.”

  “Then don’t,” Bea said. “Are we ready for Sontag’s show-and-tell?”

  “I’d rather wait until Stanislawski shows up. It’ll save time, maybe even reinforce plausibility. We won’t wait for Karl Nazarian. He has some necessary items to assemble and it might take him a while. You and Joanna go down and keep Ef company. Show him the test results. I want to sit here and pull some ideas together.”

  “Of course,” Bea said.

  They left me alone. I’d already been briefed by Joanna on events of the past half year as we ate our small breakfast, following the inducements. Seeing holovids of “myself” had been bad enough. But I was even more shocked at how quickly the Haluk had moved to insinuate themselves into the Commonwealth economy, dismayed at how readily their reassurances of goodwill had been accepted, in spite of Ef Sontag’s efforts to sound the alarm. Not even Brown Fleece’s demiclone corpse had significantly swayed public opinion against the Haluk. The Concerns had produced experts of their own who contradicted Bea’s evidence.

  Ef and his committee had done their best. Unfortunately, the fact remained that the blue aliens were very good for business, and the Hundred Concerns were fearful of rocking the prosperity boat. Their pocket Delegates would vote on the Haluk colonies as they were told to, unless I could unleash a groundswell of citizen opposition in time to make a difference.

  I began to dictate to a small e-book. Doing my best to remember incriminating remarks made by the two Haluk leaders as they stood in front of my dystasis tank. Trying to recall details of Barky Tregarth’s story, Dolores da Gama’s spiteful boasts, and the Sheltok skipper’s damning admissions of Haluk piracy being swept under the rug by nervous Concern management.

  The front doorbell rang.

  I looked out the window, saw a little red Honda Civic parked in front of the town house, and assumed that Karl had changed his mind and acquired another set of wheels. About ten minutes later Joanna came up to the sitting room.

  “Adam Stanislawski, the richest man in the galaxy, has arrived. Both he and Ef Sontag have accepted the proof of your identity. You won’t have to submit to the truth machine on their behalf. On stage, Blue Boy. The dress rehearsal audience is waiting.”

  With her leading, I went down to the kitchen. Ef and Adam and Bea were sitting at the table, where cups of coffee and tea shared space with forensic apparatus.

  Gasps at my entrance. The two men sat still as statues.

  “Good morning, all,” I said mildly. “Thanks for coming and thanks for believing. I’m sure you’re curious about the circumstances that resulted in my physical change. In just a few minutes I’ll satisfy your curiosity and tell the whole story. But first: I hope no one is in need of a defibrillator.”

  Strained chuckles.

  “No? Excellent. There are two principal objectives I hope to accomplish today, with your help. The first is the removal of a demiclone agent, loyal to the Haluk, who has been taking my place as President of Rampart Concern and Corporate Syndic. Adam Stanislawski has pledged to help me accomplish this. When this impostor is deposed by the Boa
rd of Directors, I hope to have Vice-Chairman John Ellington, the Macrodur stakeholding representative, elected syndic in his place. He has the stature—and the motivation—necessary to pressure Rampart’s so-called pocket Delegates into a one-eighty-degree switch.”

  Ef Sontag said, “Are you certain this new syndic will obey orders?”

  Adam Stanislawski laughed. “John will do as I say.”

  “And you’re certain,” Joanna said, “that John is the man you think he is.”

  “All of my employees have been required to take DNA tests every week,” Stanislawski said. “Delegate Sontag’s open committee sessions describing demiclone infiltration scared the liver out of me. I instituted the policy at the beginning of September.” The Macrodur chairman’s blue eyes did their friendly twinkle thing. “And before you ask—I have not excluded myself from the testing. Even though I haven’t heard Helly’s story about his latest exploits, I’ve decided to accept his thesis that a vast Haluk conspiracy exists, and that it poses an immediate threat to humanity. All of Macrodur’s, er, political influence will be exerted to defeat the Haluk colonial bill. I’ll do my best to see that Rampart does the same. You have my word on it.”

  The 400-kilo gorilla had spoken. Ef Sontag nodded, showing admirable legislative sangfroid.

  I said, “Let’s move along. The second objective I hope to accomplish is the one Chairman Stanislawski just iterated. To this end I volunteer to appear today as a witness in Ef’s opposition summation in the Assembly. Prior to my appearance, I’ll undergo DNA testing and a brief psychotronic interrogation before a conference of the news media. I will then invite the man masquerading as Asahel Frost to step forward and do the same thing. He won’t, of course. By the way, the impostor is a human, not a Haluk. He’s a traitor to his race whose behavior can perhaps be explained by the fact that he’s a dangerous sociopath. His name is Alistair Drummond.”

  “Sonuvabitch,” said Adam Stanislawski.

  “I have my reasons for unveiling myself to the media prior to my appearance before the Assembly,” I continued. “It’s good psychology to give the Delegates prior warning of a bombshell.”

  “I agree with the tactic,” said Ef Sontag. “We don’t want them so shocked by the revelation that they don’t pay attention to what you’re saying.”

  “There’s another factor favoring media revelation,” I continued. “It will warn the general population that something dramatic will happen during the Assembly session, and ensure that the session receives maximum viewer exposure. Professor Joanna DeVet suggested the possibility of an interactive citizen referendum on the colony measure. I believe there’s constitutional provision for that.”

  Sontag didn’t look encouraging. “In this situation, I doubt that a majority of the Assembly Delegates would yield their voting power to the people. The provision was designed to apply to grave emergencies, in situations where Delegate factions appear to be hopelessly deadlocked. A vote on new Haluk colonies might not qualify as a grave emergency—especially in the minds of my Conservative colleagues.” He considered for a moment. “However, if the vote goes against us tomorrow, as it very well may, there’s constitutional provision for an interactive veto if enough citizens express immediate disapproval. Am I right, Professor?”

  Joanna nodded. “Delegate Sontag could call for citizen participation from the Assembly floor after the Delegate vote is tallied. Unlike the referendum, a citizen veto poll doesn’t require Assembly approval. It can be okayed by the Speaker herself.”

  “She might be amenable,” Ef said, “provided sufficient numbers of citizens had expressed opposition to the measure following the summations. I’ll be sure to mention that during our media show.”

  “Say it again at the end of your summation,” I urged.

  Joanna said, “You realize that a final veto tally would probably take a couple of days, while PlaNet hits from remote worlds are collated and verified.” She looked bemused. “You know, there hasn’t been a citizen veto for sixty years. Not since legislation on the death penalty for all Throwaways was shot down.”

  And if the citizens hadn’t gotten off their apathetic duffs and killed that draconian measure, Yours Truly would not be alive today, and in a position to make trouble …

  “Are there any other questions or comments concerning upcoming events at the Assembly this afternoon?” I inquired.

  “Do you really think it’s wise to expose Alistair Drummond during a media conference?” Bea Mangan queried the room at large. “I’m a medical doctor as well as a geneticist and I did study psychiatry—although I admit mine is very rusty by now. But it seems to me that there’s a danger of provoking this man to some very rash actions. He might even try to disrupt the media conference. Perhaps Assembly Security ought to be warned of that possibility.”

  I said, “Good point. But I think it’s necessary that Drummond’s credibility be destroyed immediately. I believe he’s inserted demiclone agents into other Concerns besides Rampart.”

  “I agree,” said Stanislawski, “but with one stipulation. Expose the fraudulent Helly, but don’t name Drummond.” He frowned. “There’s bound to be confusion about why Helly looks like a Haluk, when his demiclone is a human being. I know I’m confused.”

  “I hope I can let that slide for today,” I said. “There were two duplicates made of me. The first was Drummond and the second was a Haluk. I killed the Haluk demiclone in cold blood, while he was unconscious. It was necessary, but I don’t intend to defend my action in a quickie media conference.”

  Everybody stared at me in silence for a long beat.

  Then Ef Sontag cleared his throat tactfully. “The regular media room in Commonwealth Assembly House is probably too small for this affair. When we announce the purpose of the conference, every person in the capital with media credentials will want to attend. We might have a mob scene on our hands, even without interference from Drummond. I’m not sure that my staff will be able to cope.”

  “Suppose I have my own media-relations people liaise with them,” said the Macrodur chairman. “You and I can discuss the matter after Helly tells us about his recent activities.” He turned to me. “I’m very interested to know how you ended up blue. Lamentable as the condition is for you, personally, I’m inclined to believe it might be extremely advantageous to our cause. A humanoid Haluk corpse wasn’t dramatic enough to shock people. A live Halukoid human is something else.”

  I stretched my alien lips into a smile facsimile. “My tale is next on the docket. But first, sir, you need to get on the horn and tell John Ellington to organize the emergency Rampart board meeting. Let’s make it 1100 hours at Rampart Tower. And please caution your stooge very strongly to keep news of the gathering away from Fake Helly Frost. Otherwise, we might arrive at Rampart Tower and discover that all of the directors except the demiclone have disappeared.”

  “Leave it to me,” said the 400-kilo gorilla. He took a phone from the inside pocket of his suit coat and began tapping pads.

  During the hiatus, the back doorbell rang and Joanna went to answer it. She returned in a moment followed by a rugged elderly man wearing a white coverall labeled C‘EST CHEESE CATERING SERVICE. The logo of a comical mouse in a chef’s toque was embroidered on his back.

  Karl Nazarian spotted me, did the predictable double take and said, “Aw, shit! Aw, shit! Is that you, Helly?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shit,” he said for a third time. He stood there for a moment with his face screwed into an expression of thunderous fury. Then he put down the sizable container and the garment bag he was carrying, came to the table, pulled me to my feet, and embraced me in a bear hug. “We’ll get those Haluk bastards for this!”

  “Yes,” said Bea Mangan quietly. “We will.”

  I introduced Karl to the group. “I was just about to regale these good people with the adventures of Helly the Haluk. Now you can hear the story, too. What’s in the box? Weapons?”

  “They’re outside in the van. Thi
s is something better.” He opened the large container and began unloading it onto the table. “My girlfriend the caterer thought I might as well bring some of her great home cooking. Quiche, anyone? Six different kinds. Also pigs-in-a-blanket, croissants, brioches, walnut bread—”

  “One of everything for me,” I said. “I have a feeling I’ll need to keep up my strength today.”

  By the time I’d finished telling my story and answering questions, it was nearly ten o’clock. We’d eaten all the food Karl had brought. Periodically, my narrative was interrupted by phone calls, some directed to members of the spellbound audience, some made by the audience themselves.

  Sontag heard from his media liaison people. Superefficient Macrodur flacks were already demanding a lightning policy briefing in anticipation of the big show. Ef passed on information and gave orders.

  John Ellington called back, informing his boss that he had organized the emergency Rampart board meeting. Eight of the twelve directors were in Toronto, constituting the necessary quorum. I would do my presentation before Gunter Eckert, my sister Eve, my father Simon, John Ellington, Chief Finance Officer Caleb Millstone, Chief Technical Officer Crista Wenzel, Small Stakeholder Representative Thora Scranton, and Chief Legal Officer Satoshi “Sam” Yamamoto.

  According to Ellington, no one at Rampart Tower knew the whereabouts of the alleged Asahel Frost. He had not been seen in his offices for three days.

  Prompted by my account of the Haluk leaders viewing me in the tank and discussing the Grand Design, Bea Mangan deduced—correctly—that Alistair Drummond was not a virtually perfect genetic replica of me as Fake Helly Mark II had been. Since Drummond had been in dystasis for only four weeks, he would retain substantial amounts of his own DNA. Bea downloaded Drummond’s stats from her lab at ICS. At her suggestion, Adam ordered Macrodur sleuths to begin searching for a verifiable biosample of the impostor—as well as for Drummond himself.