Great-aunt Cora gasped, Uncle Karolus guffawed, and Prosper Ligon said acidly, “We neither inquired of Cyrus Mobarak regarding his daughter’s previous sexual experience, nor do we intend to. The simple fact of the matter, Alex Ligon, is that you have failed the family. If we hope to achieve a union with Mobarak’s empire, we must seek it through other methods. And fortunately, such an avenue appears to be available. Lucy-Maria Mobarak is, it seems, very taken with your cousin, Hector.”
“Hector!” Alex said. “But he’s a total idiot!”
“Now then,” Karolus said. “That happens to be my son you’re talking about. Not that I disagree with you. But Cyrus Mobarak is a doting father, and if things work out he’ll go along.”
“If?” Prosper glared. “This if is news to me. I thought Mobarak’s consent had already been given.”
“It’s not him. It’s her.”
“Lucy-Maria is balking?”
“Not exactly. But somebody put a half-witted idea in her head. She says she wants Hector to ‘prove himself.’ ”
“Prove he is able to sire children?”
“Good God, no. If all she wanted was proof of his fertility, I could offer plenty. I’m paying for his little mistakes all over Ganymede. No, she wants him to perform some great and noble deed.”
“What sort of deed?”
“The mind boggles.” Uncle Karolus scowled. “It’s not like he can ride off on a horse somewhere and fight a dragon. Hector says he wants to think about it and come up with something valuable for the family, all by himself. Except that thinking is what he’s worst at. Alex there is the one who thinks.”
“To remarkably little avail.” Prosper Ligon turned again to Alex. “You owe the family some exceptional service as compensation for what you did.”
“I didn’t do anything that Hector hasn’t done a hundred times.”
“Comparison with your cousin will not help your case. He at least is doing his best for the family. I will tell you exactly what we expect of you. We discussed this before you arrived.” Prosper looked around the table for the confirming nods of agreement, and went on, “You were present at our last full meeting, when the decision was made to accept the contract for Phase Two of the Starseed contract. Our profit for this work—and, indeed, possibly the very survival of Ligon Industries—depends upon the rights to operate down to and within the atmosphere of Saturn. Those rights reside with the lease on the minor moon Pandora. Do you recall any of this, or were you daydreaming of lustful pleasures throughout the meeting?”
“You are confusing me with my sex-mad cousins, Rezel and Tanya. I remember perfectly well what was said at the meeting. It was Rezel and Tanya who were supposed to contact the present leaseholder and fuck him until he didn’t know which way was up or what day of the week it was. I was only a third-string back-up. What happened? Did the nympho twins strike out?”
Bad language and sexual references had no effect on Prosper Ligon. The old donkey’s head gave a more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger shake, and his uncle said, “Insults to fellow family members cannot compensate for your own failings, Alex. Do you deny that you have family duties and family responsibilities?”
“I have always done my absolute best for this family. The very fact that I am here, where I have no wish to be, proves that.”
“Very good. You now have an opportunity to prove it once again. Rezel and Tanya, for whatever reason”—Prosper Ligon coughed drily—“were unsuccessful in arranging to meet with the current leaseholder of Pandora. From certain rumors that we have heard, concerning the interests and nature of the leaseholder, we believe that you have a better chance of success. We wish you to take on this assignment.”
It was no surprise to Alex—the mysterious ticket to the Saturn system had been a pretty obvious clue. “You mean because he’s interested in computers and computer models? If he’s really reclusive, that won’t be enough. There are tens of millions of modelers in the System, and he won’t agree to see any of them. He’ll surely refuse to see me.” Alex thought of the predictive model in its present disastrous condition, and went on, “Even if he would see me, I can’t possibly go anywhere at the moment. My work is at a critical stage.”
Lena Ligon shook her head, and said in her sweetest and most reasonable voice, “Alex, dear Alex. Give us some credit for knowing what we are doing.”
Prosper Ligon raised his head and added, “Your mother is far wiser than you. She realizes, as apparently you do not, that Ligon Industries has connections and influences that extend to the highest levels of Jovian system government. Will you accept the truth of that statement?”
Alex has stressed that very point to Kate Lonaker, little more than an hour before. He nodded.
“We feel sure that a leave of absence for you to pursue the question of the Pandora lease will be approved. What we ask of you is that you visit the current leaseholder, and argue our case.”
“Suppose that he won’t meet with me?”
“We have evidence to suggest that he will. Once again, we possess corporate resources which you seem to undervalue and underestimate.”
Alex was ready to reply—he was going to say that he would take the assignment, in the hope that would let him escape from the meeting—when the door leading into the conference room crashed open.
Everyone turned. Great-aunt Agatha stood on the threshold. Her clothes were normal enough in style, but her blouse lacked the usual carefully-chosen brooches and hung open to reveal her carefully sculptured bosom. “Started without me, eh?” she said. “The decline of manners is a symptom of this decadent age.” She walked forward briskly enough, but with an odd and crab-like sideways motion.
As she took her place at the table, Uncle Karolus said abruptly, “Thought you were sick.”
“Nonsense. Now, what’s the first order of business?”
She was addressing Prosper Ligon, but it was Lena Ligon who answered. “Agatha. There’s something wrong. You’re yellow.”
As soon as his mother said that, Alex could see it, too. Great-aunt Agatha’s skin had a slightly sallow tinge, but it was her eyes that really showed it. Usually the whites were absolutely clear, with a hint of blue that spoke of perfect health. Those whites were now a muddy yellow, almost buff in color.
“Nonsense,” Agatha said again. “Lena, you are imagining things.”
“You told me you were sick.” Prosper Ligon walked around the table toward her. “You were supposed to go to Sylva Commensals so they could take a look at you. Did you go?”
“I did not. Complete waste of time. I feel fine.” Agatha placed her hands on her right side just below the rib cage. She was pressing there, and Alex noticed a slight tremble in her fingertips.
He glanced at the others. They seemed to have no idea what was wrong. “Aunt Agatha, are you feeling any pain?”
“Of course not.”
And of course, her answer should have been no surprise. One advantage of being a Commensal was that one of the interior organisms took care of pain symptoms, while others repaired any damage.
“It’s the parent schistosome,” Alex said. And, when the others stared, “The big wormy thing that sits above the liver in a Commensal. There’s something wrong with it. Maybe it’s even dead. Look at her symptoms. She has jaundice, because the liver isn’t breaking down bile correctly; and I think there’s swelling in the liver, where she’s pressing herself.”
“Nonsense. I am perfectly fine.” But Great-aunt Agatha’s words lacked their usual crisp diction, and she was bending over sideways in her seat.
Prosper said, without any hint of haste, “This meeting is now adjourned. Karolus, Alex, give me a hand. Cora, make an emergency call.”
“Where to?”
“Sylva Commensals, of course. This is their responsibility.”
Karolus said, “Ha! Sylva. Trillions in damages,” and went at once to Agatha’s other side.
Alex was slower to move. He had been watching his mother. On her perfect face, for t
he first time in his life, he saw undisguised alarm and terror.
* * *
“They say she’s going to be all right.”
Kate paused with the lighted taper in her hand. “They being who?”
“Sylva Commensals. Apparently the death of one of the big schistosomes is rare, but it has happened before. They’ll take it out of Aunt Agatha, put in a replacement, and she’ll be as good as new.”
Kate lit the candle and blew out the taper. “They more or less have to say that, don’t they? Either things are fine, or else they admit there’s something fundamentally dangerous about becoming a Commensal.”
She had greeted Alex on his return with an explosive, “I’ve wondered and wondered. You’ve got to tell me everything.” More revealing than her words were her clothes and the condition of her apartment. She was wearing a tight pantsuit of powder blue, showing off her figure and enhancing the color of her eyes. The lights were dim, and a casserole was steaming in the kitchen oven. Where Alex would sit was a bottle of whiskey and a flagon of Callistan ice melt, drinks that he preferred to any wine in spite of Kate’s efforts to “educate” him. The table was decorated with candles, sprigs of ivy, and fronds of lady’s slipper. Alex, knowing that Kate was a great believer in the language of flowers, sneaked a look at a reference database while she was off removing the casserole from the oven. Sprig of ivy, with tendrils: assiduous to please. And Lady’s slipper: win me and wear me. Both of which suited him very well. He wasn’t going to mention the recent past if she didn’t.
“I think that being a Commensal may be dangerous,” he said. “I received some very odd visions about them when I was inside the predictive model.” He decided that was the right way to put it. He had been inside the model when it was running, and visions was a better word than facts. What he retained after he left the model was a great jumble of impressions, perhaps scrambled in time.
“I’ll tell you one thing, though,” he went on. “After we left Sylva Commensals, Uncle Karolus did a funny little hop-step. ‘They’re in shit up to their necks and they can’t duck,’ he said. ‘We have recordings of the meeting, with Agatha walking like a lame crab and yellow as a banana. I’ll make sure that the pictures are with the media tomorrow—leaked, of course. We’ll insist we have no idea how they got out from Ligon Corporate.’ ”
“Dirty tactics.” Kate refilled Alex’s glass. “What did I tell you? Wherever you encounter gobs of money, you’ll find shady business methods to go with it.”
They were sitting opposite each other at the little table, small enough so that knee contact was inevitable. “All right,” Kate went on. “I don’t want just the high points. Give me details, the whole thing. Every second from the moment you arrived at Ligon Industries until you walked back in that door.”
It was a tall order, but Alex did his best. He ate a fair amount, drank a lot, and talked steadily while Kate sipped wine and listened in silence. She frowned once, when he said he hadn’t denied having sex with Lucy-Maria, or whoever else it might have been, on his disastrous night at the Holy Rollers; but Kate clapped her hands with delight when he told her that he had recalled her advice, Screw your family. Give them hell, and described his own outburst.
“Bravo, Alex. Exactly what they deserved.”
“Maybe. But I didn’t do so well later. If it’s approved for me to take a few days leave I’m pretty much committed to trying to see this weirdo who hangs out on Pandora. I don’t want to do it, but I didn’t know how to say no.”
“Don’t give it a second thought. I’ll pass word up the line that your presence here is absolutely vital. Which it is.”
“I’m not sure. Prosper Ligon sounded pretty confident. He usually makes sure of his positions ahead of time.” Alex had another thought. He had covered everything from the time he arrived at Ligon Corporate, but not the period while he was traveling there. “Kate, I saw a news blurb while I was heading up for the meeting, about some sort of alien contact. It made me think of something similar in the predictive model. Have you heard anything about alien messages?”
“There was nothing on the standard channels.”
“There wouldn’t be. This was a Paradigm special.”
“Then it was more than likely garbage. Want me to check it out?”
“If you would.” Alex didn’t say, if you can. Kate could network in a way that he would never master. “Not now, though.”
“Certainly not now. Have you finished eating?”
“Yes.”
Kate rested her hand on the top of the bottle. “And drinking?”
“Not quite.” Alex realized that his head no longer ached. He felt good, physically and mentally. He took the bottle from her. “One more, for medicinal purposes. You know the origin of the word ‘whiskey’? It comes from usquebaugh, which meant ‘water of life.’ The old-timers back on Earth knew what they were talking about.”
“Just don’t drink too much. You know what another of your old-timers said about alcohol? ‘Liquor increases the desire but ruins the performance.’ ”
Which disposed of any question as to what would happen next. Kate might be worried, but she didn’t need to be. Beneath the table, Alex gripped her knee between his. This had been a long and multiply-horrible day, but the night would be better.
To borrow from more of the old-timers, all’s well that ends well. And then there was, Unborn tomorrow and dead yesterday, why fret about them if today be sweet? Not to mention a lecherous head begets a lecherous tail.
He didn’t realize that he was speaking aloud until Kate reached out and very firmly removed the bottle from his hand. “When you start babbling quotations, it means you’ve had quite enough.”
“I’m feeling great.”
“That’s all right. Feeling great is allowed.” Kate put the bottle off on a side table and reached out a hand to raise Alex to his feet. “What isn’t allowed is Alex Ligon, tomorrow morning, telling me that he’s not sure who he had sex with tonight.”
18
The buzz was surely Magrit Knudsen, trying to reach him again. It would be about the infernal Ligon family, and Bat’s need to meet with them, but Bat had taken all the irritation he could stand for one day. He set a minimal data-rate line to the outside world, designed to infuriate and frustrate any human caller, and retreated into the safety and solitude of the Keep.
It was time to review the four-sigma list.
The list was prepared automatically by Bat’s own programs in their constant system-wide search for anomalies improbable enough to be flagged. The “four-sigma” designation was, as Bat well knew, misleading. It suggested that he was interested in items with only one chance in more than ten thousand of occurring, which was quite true. But the name also assumed that such events followed a normal distribution, which was surely not true.
Bat was too lazy to invent a better name. He knew what he wanted from the program and in any case the next step was all his, incapable of being quantified in any manner that he could describe. He sought connections between items on the four-sigma list, to multiply chances and turn a less than one in ten thousand probability into a one in three hundred million improbability.
It had been a few days since he examined the list, and several new items caught his eye.
* * *
1) Someone was requesting of Transportation Central a high-speed passage between the Jovian L-4 and L-5 points, an event unprecedented in the program’s experience, and in Bat’s also. Argus Station to Odin Station? He marked a query to keep track of the flight.
2) A rapid five percent drop had taken place in the corporate value of Sylva Commensals, coincident with a statement of record high earnings. That was certainly an anomaly, in that it made no apparent sense, but Bat knew better than to spend time wondering about it. While still in his teens he had concluded that the value placed on a corporation by investors was nothing but a random walk modified by inside information.
3) A solar flare of record size had occurred, doubl
ing the intensity of the solar wind through the whole system for four days. Bat ignored that one, too. Certainly, it was an anomalous event, but even at his most paranoid Bat did not suspect the Sun of active involvement in human affairs.
4) Nothing new at the Master level had been posted on the Puzzle Network for the past six days.
That made Bat sit up and take notice. He had been too preoccupied with his own worries to monitor Puzzle Network activity recently, but he had never known such a long interval without at least one new Master-level problem. Something must be going on, and he was quite annoyed that he was not involved. Again, he marked a query to keep track and see when the pattern ended. If it did not, the program would alert him in a day or two.
5) Fewer live human births had been reported for one day of the previous month than at any time in a decade. Bat took a quick look at the numbers on the days before and after, and wiped it off the list. He was seeing a simple consequence of the laws of probability. Statistical maxima and minima had to occur on some day, and only if a pattern were displayed was it worth further study.
* * *
He was all set to strike the next item also—huge Io volcanic activity, surely correlating with the solar flare—when a slow, gurgling voice emerged from the speaker attached to the low-data rate external line.
L—e—t m—e i—n.
No human could slow a speech rate like that, and remain intelligible. Bat stepped up the data rate on the line. “Mord?”
“Who do you think?” said an acerbic voice. “Come on, give me a decent line rate.”
“Not while I’m in the Keep environment. It will take a minute to close off the Keep, then I’ll bring you in on a Seine connection.”
“Sure, don’t bother to hurry. A second of time at your clock rate only makes me feel like I’m waiting a year.”
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