by M S Murdock
“Vanishes?” he gulped, his pug face turning whiter still “Oh, don’t thank me,” she said airily, standing up. “Good day, Mr. Barmaray.’ Her tone left him no choice but to leave, quietly and quickly. The big, dumb animal would know better than to make demands of Ardala Valmar ever again. Of course, there was no question that she would yield the holographs, or the original laser-negatives. They would go back into her files as insurance against any future misbehavior.
He left, mopping his oily brow relievedly, wedged between her security people, two Desert Runners.
Ardala looked at the hour: noon. Time for lunch. Fresh squeezed green juices and raw complex grains. Expensive-especially on Mars-but nutritional. She was served at her desk and ate alone, in silence, contemplating her schemes.
After lunch, it was off to Body Nova at the North-H Mall, where she liked to take a swim, schedule permitting. Of course she had permanent membership in all the more status-minded clubs reserved for RAM muckamucks, but she liked mixing with the common folk at Body Nova, and she liked strolling around the North-H Mall afterward.
No bodyguards. She liked the oohs and aahs. It gave the people a thrill just to see her.
She was back by 1:30 PM.
Her afternoon was taken up largely by a complicated matter that involved the management of an umbrella medical corporation-including a mega-hospital, a string of lucrative nursing homes, and a pharmaceutical supply firm. The “information flow” between the divisions, which ought to ensure robust profitability, was threatened by the fierce internecine competition. Gouging in one division was causing havoc in the others. There were differing theories as to how profits could be maximized overall.
She had the three branch officers in for review. They were sullen and defensive, and openly bickered among themselves. She had had Tanny prepare a thick report on the profit-loss flow and how it was adversely affected by the situation. The medical corporation was really a minor investment, but it was turning into a major headache. The three branch Officers had so much petty disagreement that it was a struggle just to remind them to focus on Tanny’s recommendations. Ardala was no good at playing diplomat-what she really wanted to do was strangle all three of them.
At random, she chose one of them-the ugliest, she thought to herself, buzzard-thin and red-veined--and summarily fired him. Two Desert Runners materialized and hauled him out the door-and out of her life. (What they did with him after he was out of her sight was of no consequence to her. They liked to have their little fun.)
The fate of their colleague sobered the other two officers immediately. Again at random, Ardala chose one of them-one that was a little beefy for her taste, but a solid and intriguing physical specimen nonetheless-and promoted him above the other. The one in charge would have to answer for whatever happened in the future. Let them work out the details, she told them. There could be no mistaking the edge of fury and warning in her voice.
Desert Runners materialized and removed them from her presence.
It was 4:00 PM Where were Tanny and Hatch? she wondered impatiently, drumming her nails. She could hardly wait for their report.
They arrived at 4:01 PM.
OOOOO
The three retired to Ardala’ s boudoir, where they could discuss the subject-Dr. Andresen and the twentieth century astronaut-in an atmosphere of gentility.
Tanny and Hatch sat at either end of an upholstered couch with several inches between them, like matched bookends. Tanny still were his sexy owl-rims from the morning. Hatch, for some reason, today favored large, bold, black-rimmed touring glasses. Ardala had to admit to herself that it gave the gennie a slight edge over his replicate, even though in all other respects (buzzcut, White synthsuit, athletic proportions, and so on) they were identical.
Ardala sat in an armchair and listened to them, considering everything they had to say and querying them for loopholes and contingencies-wondering, as She watched them closely and observed their bonded interaction, if it had been a mistake, after all, to have had Tanny and Hatch neutered. They made a rather tantalizing twosome.
They were very good at information-gathering, management, control and dispersal, exactitude, and enforcement. Their summary was complete. Like Ardala, they had put in a long, hard, rewarding day.
They were certain, as certain as could be, that Dr. Andresen was bona fide. He was a naif, they assured her, without any political passions or affiliations. But everything that he had written-and everything that had been written about Buck Rogers in the history books-checked out. Even as an artifact, Buck Rogers would be of immense propaganda value to RAM.
Of course, this Buck Rogers artifact would be of immense value, period, to Ardala Valmar, if she could get her hands on it first.
Hatch told her that if she wanted to move on this matter, she ought to move right away. Within seventy-two hours, at the latest.
“What about Uncle Simund?” Ardala asked, when they had completed their synopsis of facts and probabilities.
Hatch frowned. “My sources indicate that he is not personally involved,” said Hatch. “My opinion is that the girl was right: Simund Holzerhein doesn’t know anything about this.”
“Surely the existence of Masterlink ought to have tipped him off,” posited Ardala.
“Perhaps . . .” said Hatch.
“. . . . it is possible,” Tanny said, finishing Hatch’s sentence, “that Uncle Simund believes that Masterlink is all there is. Or perhaps he only recently learned of Masterlin.”
Now it was Ardala’s turn to frown. “That would mean complicity at the highest level,” she said. It had to be Price, Ardala thought inwardly with glee. But she forced herself to wait for the rest of the report.
“Perhaps,” said Hatch. He did not like to commit himself unless he was positive. Ardala appreciated his hedging, even when it did not in the least affect her decision. She hated yes-men, and she knew that Tanny and Hatch were coded to be meticulous and conservative in their judgments.
A silence briefly reigned. Tanny and Hatch, in sync, sipped on exotic drinks. Ardala (who was not imbibing) steepled her fingers thoughtfully.
“I want that body,” she said at last. “Either Neola Price has her own plans for it, which she’s not sharing with Uncle Simund, or she’s incompetent and doesn’t know its value. In either case, if I get the body first, I make her look bad and I’m one step closer to taking her position on the board.”
“My suggestion, then,” said Hatch, leveling his milky orbs meaningfully, “is that you go to Uncle Simund and somehow test him to see what he knows. Only then will you know what you have to offer of value.”
“I concur," Fanny hastened to add.
“With the proviso,” said Hatch, “that you tell him less than you known”
“Then, as you say, arrange to get the body yourself But you must be careful and maintain a fallback position in the event that your plan to incriminate Price somehow backfires,” said Tanny.
Ardala absorbed that conclusion and nodded approvingly. Tanny and Hatch were masters at predicting all the angles and preventing her impulsiveness from incriminating her. “What are you suggesting?” she asked.
“Go outside normal channels,” said Hatch decisively. “Hire someone free-lance to pick up the body for you. Someone with no connection to Ardala Valmar. Someone whom we have never used before, and will never use again. An untouchable. Someone foolish enough to indulge in ideals, in whom we can place our trust, to an extent, and someone whom we can afford to have fail, if necessary. Someone who can take on such a precarious mission and possibly thread the needle. But if not. . .” He shrugged.
Ardala’s face showed not a flicker of reaction. But she loved the idea, because she had the perfect candidate: NE0 colonel Wilma Deering. Brilliant! Her arch-rival for the affections of Killer Kane-not that Wilma Deering had the slightest idea of that. Ardala had never even met the most famous freedom fighter in the system, never even laid eyes on her (excluding police holograph-bulletins, of course)
, yet she hated her with a burning intensity. What an irony! She could use this tricky business to meet and hire Wilma Deering, satisfying a certain curiosity, while at the same time arranging a double-cross if necessary; if anything went wrong, she could always turn Wilma over to RAM for the reward on her head as a member of NBC.
And wouldn’t “Killer” Kane be surprised to hear what his pure heroine would do if the terms were right? Ardala Valmar would bait the hook right and proper, and she knew she would reel Wilma Deering in.
Soundlessly, Ardala rose and went to the table tray of appetizers and stimulants. She picked up one of the snifters, crossed the room, and filled up the glasses of Tanny and Hatch, leaning over so that her pointed breasts were in full view. She returned to her easy chair, leaned back, and for the first time in the day, relaxed.
“Let us set the wheels in motion,” she said with a hard, cold smile. If Dr. Andresen was right about his theory, this was her opportunity to score one against Neola Price, get her revenge on the unsuspecting Wilma Deering, and elevate her status on the executive board and with Uncle Simund! Three ways to win! Ardala loved the odds.
OOOOO
Ardala took up residence on her ship, the Princess of Mars, and instructed the captain to set a course for Earth, to meet the NEO cruiser on more neutral territory. Wilma’s lone ship arrived within twenty-four hours of the message’s first transmission. As Ardala had requested, the NBC colonel had brought two extra pilots as escorts.
Ardala’s private security team, two Desert Runners named Triin and Aasha, met the NEO guests at the docking platform and led them to the sanctum sanctorum behind Ardala’s private office, where Ardala and her two assistants waited.
The sanctum sanctorum, which could only be accessed from Ardala’s private office, was concealed behind a wall that slid open to reveal a small but elegant den. It was intended for more intimate negotiations, and few in Ardala’s employ were ever invited to experience its cozy ambiance.
Here the furniture was all gleaming buffalo leather. All the colors were rustic. The walls were furnished with folk and primitive art pieces-either worthless or precious, depending on one’s point of view. But Ardala had discovered that these totems and religious symbols of the archaic past had a soothing effect on clients-as well as, she had to admit, on herself. A massive, antiquated grandfather clock kept rhythmic time.
One wall rotated to feature either a fully operative roaring fireplace, an ocean vista, complete with sound effects and salt breeze, or the convincing illusion (planets, atmospheric density, and so on) of a free fall in outer space. The generic choice was a tasteful wood grain that Ardala preferred on this and most occasions.
The music purring in the background was from a laserdisk of German arias of the eighteenth century. Ardala had no ear for “dead music,” but she knew that NEO members fancied themselves aficionados, connecting themselves with all things even vaguely associated with Earth’s early freedom.
On a table tray had been arranged a row of snifters, a selection of line chocolates, tobacco, candied sweetmeats, and algae. A great arbiter of social politesse when she chose to be, Ardala made a ceremony of presenting Wilma with a glass of a rare distillate from the Venusian Lowlands that was part of a bootlegged cargo she had acquired in a recent “information swap.”
“Welcome to my home, Colonel Deering,” Ardala said graciously. “Won’t you be seated?” She waved an arm flamboyantly to one of the white leather wing chairs.
“I prefer to stand,” Wilma said, practically spitting the words. “The message said you could provide NEO with two light-class cruisers in exchange for my assistance. I brought pilots for both the cruisers along with me as you requested. This had better not be some kind of joke, Valmar.”
Ardala hesitated momentarily before responding, as she studied her adversary more carefully. Wilma Deering’s red hair blazed, even in the soft lighting of the den. Ardala noted that Wilma was not as beautiful as the picture on the wanted poster, and that made her glad.
All three NEO officers were dressed in the old fashioned double-breasted blue coats that their organization had adopted as a standard uniform. The color of the coats stood for the way Earth looked from space a long time ago. Now the planet appeared more like brown sludge from orbit. Ardala missed the significance, though, and simply thought that it should have been obvious, especially to a woman, that the dress was completely unflattering.
One of Wilma’s escorts, a very tall, very black man, was unfamiliar to Ardala. But she recognized the other as Kemal Gavilan, the renegade Mercurian prince. A member of the aristocracy herself, Ardala had heard about the Sun King prince who had turned his back on his family and his heritage. She could not possibly understand choosing the lowly Martian Dancers, and then NEO, over the life of wealth and power that was his by birthright, but she was glad to see at least one member of the NBC group came from good breeding. She smiled seductively at him.
Ardala knew that he was a graduate of the John Carter Academy and was a highly skilled fighter. That alone was enough provocation for Ardala to look up at both her Desert Runners, just to reassure herself with their presence. Both Triin and Aasha had tensed the moment the NEO agents had joined Ardala, and were still poised on the edge of springing to the attack.
The Desert Runners both growled deep in their throats at Wilma’s tone, and the two NE0 pilots considered reaching for their weapons to protect their leader. Ardala was amused by the whole militaristic ritual and even thought about letting the NEO pilots make the mistake of drawing their weapons. Instead, she raised a hand before anyone had a chance to move. It took Ardala all of her self-discipline not to smile.
“It’s not a joke at all.” the Martian said calmly “The cruisers are already fitted out and waiting. What I want in return is simple. In the Asteroid Belt where Juno-Vesta arc, to be exact-there is a body in a small capsule, a twentieth century cockpit. I want you to steal the whole package from the belt before anyone else can recover it. Then you are to leave everything in a location I have loaded into the gift cruisers’ computers. That is the operative data. Everything else is incidental. You can trust me to provide you with everything else you’ll need to successfully transfer the body to me.”
Wilma Deering looked at Ardala as if she wanted to tear the data broker’s head from her body. There was little Wilma disliked more than a coward, and she considered Ardala Valmar one of the biggest cowards in the inner planets.”
“I don’t trust you for a second, Ardala. Why are you asking us to do this? Can’t you bully one of the weaklings who usually serve you into this job?” Wilma said, her voice as cold as the dark side of Mercury. “What’s so important about this body that you’ve stooped to working with NEO and risked crossing RAM to get it?”
Ardala took a deep breath. What she wanted at that moment was to put her perfectly manicured nail tips through the NEO colonel’s eyeballs. Instead, she smiled as honestly as she could manage and tried to calmly answer Wilma’s questions.
“Honestly, Colonel Deering, I think you’d be more comfortable if you took a seat. Your nervousness distresses me.” Then Ardala spoke in a measured tone with all the rational intent of a school teacher. “The body is my property. As I’m sure you know, I don’t always work with RAM; I’m a free agent. This just happens to be one instance when I prefer to work with someone I can trust. I knew I could trust NEO’s integrity, especially yours, Colonel Deering, so I contacted you. Simple enough, don’t you agree?”
Wilma relaxed just a bit. It was common knowledge that the people usually in Ardala’s employ were untrustworthy. “And what do we get?” the colonel said calmly.
Ardala had done her research on Wilma. NEO was short on ships and firepower, and Wilma had defined her interests as NEO’s. That made the price Ardala had to set for the mission very easy to identify.
“I thought that was perfectly clear, or you wouldn’t have brought the two charming pilots along. You, or should I say NE0, get two cruisers, along with
various other armaments that I believe you feel you could use to good advantage.”
“That’s a sizable price to pay, even for someone of your means,” Wilma said.
Ardala laughed-not because she thought Wilma’s comment was funny, but because she knew the timing was all-important in these types of negotiations. “Then you should be all the more eager to assist,” she said simply.
The Martian was making sense, and even Colonel Deering recognized that. “I need to know that you’re negotiating in good faith, Ms. Valrnar. Let us take the cruisers back to NEO and have them looked over before the mission.”
Ardala had expected that request. “Of course,” she said, smiling sweetly.
“And I’d like a personal favor, if you can manage it.
I want to see Kane in Australia. He’s in a RAM prison there, and I think you can get me in to visit him.”
Ardala gasped. The request had taken her by surprise, and she hid it badly. The last thing the information broker had expected was for Wilma to ask for something for herself. That just wasn’t what Ardala’ 3 scouting reports had told her was likely.
Of all the people in the room, only Ardala knew that she was the one who had sent Kane to Australia in the first place, and all because he had shown too much of an attachment to Wilma Deering, his onetime ally and lover; Kane was so deeply in love with Wilma, in fact, that Ardala Couldn’t quite dominate his spirit. Kane had never given himself up to her fully because of his love for Wilma.”
“I don’t think that will be possible,” Ardala said at-last, trying to hide her anger. “Then you can find someone else to recover the body from the belt,” Wilma said, and Ardala clearly heard the finality of the statement.