“But he’ll pay? That’s a lot of money for a book.”
Compton nodded. “He’ll pay. The Old Man loves those books more than anything.” There was a note in his voice that told me how he felt about that.
I slid over my standard contract and disclaimer and Compton signed it with only a quick scan of the contents. He passed over a chit for five hundred credits. I told him I’d get back to him.
Our business concluded, Henry Compton stood up. He was a client, a paying client at that, so I stood up, too. For a moment it looked like he was going to put out his hand, but evidently he thought better of shaking hands with the hired help, as he simply nodded, turned and left.
Fifteen minutes later I tossed on an old cape and headed down to Level Eleven, the lowest officially inhabited level of LC3. It was while I was moving down through the levels in between that I realized I had a tail.
I don’t like being followed. I especially don’t like being followed by someone not particularly good at it. My tail was a woman and she picked me up as soon as I left my office. I made like I didn’t notice. If a woman wants to follow me it’s no skin off my nose, though I wondered if she’d keep following once she realized where I was headed. Level Eleven isn’t exactly the best place for any woman to be on her own.
L11 is the poor stepchild of the colony. Somehow the maintenance crews don’t seem to make it down as often as they should. The lights in the corridors have a permanent flicker, if they work at all. The air smells stale. Streaks of rust decorate the steel walls. But the same neglect that allows decay also allows the free-wheeling world of L11 to flourish. Garish colored lights point the way to bars, buzz joints and pleasure cubes. Music and voices, some laughing, some shouting, some sobbing, fill the corridors. L11 is a warren of passageways, most of them unmarked.
I lingered after reaching L11 to see if my follower was still with me. She was.
I paused outside a juke shop and used the reflection in their plexi-window to get a good look at her. The corridor was crowded but not nearly as much as it would be as the night hours came and the lights dimmed. That was when L11 would really come alive. I wondered if my tail had any idea where she was and just how dangerous this place could be.
She looked about my age, maybe mid-thirties. She had a pretty face with high cheekbones and straight blond hair that testified to a Slavic ancestry. She wore a black and white headscarf, babushka-style, accenting her high forehead. She must have given some thought to what to wear when following someone, as her outfit, for a Loonie, was fairly sedate—close-fitting pants and top, a short jacket and a half-cape, all of muted color. Which is why I twigged to her, of course. An attractive woman heading down to L11 wouldn’t be wearing an outfit better suited for her mother. As she came closer I could see that she wore her knife on the lower calf of her right leg, in the current style. I could tell by the expression on her face that she realized she was getting too close, and a moment later she moved past me, head down, as though intent on reaching her destination.
I spent the next two hours dropping in at bars and other places; asking questions, paying out a few credits now and then if the information was worth it. As it turned out, it was what I didn’t find out that was worth knowing.
I have enough of a reputation on L11 that I didn’t get hassled, much. Still, I was glad I had strapped on a second knife up my sleeve where it couldn’t be seen. I was even more glad to have that knife when I left Lennie’s Lounge and found the woman who had been following me in trouble in the corridor outside.
A half-dozen young teddies surrounded her. She had her knife out and was pivoting back and forth on her toes. Catcalls and invitations came with every turn and feint with her knife. It didn’t help her that her knife was a pretty little thing, designed to look good in a sheath on a leg but not much help in a fight. Since I had led her down to L11, I supposed I had to do something.
“There you are, Myshka,” I called, and walked straight over to her, pushing between two of the young toughs as though not even noticing they were there. “Why, Honey, you have your knife out. You know how dangerous that can be.”
She looked at me in amazement. I turned to her tormentors, a smile on my face.
“You’ll have to excuse my girlfriend. She gets excited sometimes. I keep telling her that little knife of hers couldn’t hurt anyone.”
The toughs were distracted, trying to keep an eye on the woman and on me at the same time. They didn’t notice me putting my hand behind my back and slipping my spare knife from my sleeve. I gave it a toss up from behind my back and over my shoulder—one-sixth Earth gravity is nice—and it neatly turned end over end as it rose with the lights of the corridor reflecting on its long, lethal blade. I reached up, caught it and held it loosely in my hand. I looked hard at the teddies. Several of them had their hands on their sheathed knives.
“Now, Myshka, why don’t you tip these nice young fellows for keeping you safe while I was looking for you?”
The girl stared at me as though I was mad. Maybe I was, but I figured it was the easiest way to get out of a tricky spot. “Haven’t you got any change?” I asked. “No problem. I’ll take care of it.” I turned to the tough who seemed most likely to be in charge and tossed him a fifty-credit token. “Here, you take this and split it among your friends. Come along, Myshka, lest we be late for dinner.”
My words were casual but my voice was as sharp as my knife, and they got my meaning. None of them gave any trouble as I took the girl’s arm and we left. I knew we’d have a few minutes grace while the punks argued over how to split the credits. It was a tried but true tactic. When faced with stronger enemies, find a way to set them against each other.
The woman and I made our way to the lift pads with me keeping a tight grip on her arm. I pulled her onto a pad as it came up through the deck and we rose together through the levels. She struggled a little but it didn’t get her anywhere. We reached the Seventh Level and, with some prodding, she stepped off. I hustled her down the corridor to my office. Once inside I planted her in a chair, the same chair Henry Compton had occupied that afternoon. I had to admit she made the chair look a lot nicer than Henry had.
She glowered at me in return and rubbed her forearm. She started to speak but I held up my hand. “Cool it, Myshka. You aren’t going anywhere until you tell me who you are and why you were following me.”
“Stop calling me Myshka.”
“What should I call you?”
“My name is Katrina Svoboda.” Her eyes flashed at me as though daring me to contradict her but she needn’t have bothered. I believed her.
“That’s better,” I said. “You can call me Ty.” I looked at her. “You’re Doña Svoboda, assistant librarian at the Compton Library?”
Her eyes widened. “How did you know that?”
I explained to her that I’d heard her name only that afternoon from her boss, Henry Compton.
“My boss. Hmph! Henry Compton doesn’t know a thing about books or how to keep a library.”
“He knows enough to know when a valuable book is missing.”
“You mean he told you about Frankenstein and The Spanish Nun?”
I nodded. “So tell me, Doña Katrina Svoboda, why weren’t you the one to notice the book was missing?”
“We have thousands of books in the collection. Frankly, I’m surprised that Henry noticed it. It’s not like he takes any interest in the library himself.”
“When did he tell you?”
“First thing this morning. He was in his office when I arrived, which is pretty rare in itself. Henry doesn’t involve himself in the day-to-day operations of the library.” The sarcasm with which this was said was thick enough to butter toast. “That toad had the nerve to hint that it was my fault the book was gone.”
“You don’t care very much for Mr. Henry Compton, do you?”
She shrugged. “Why should I? That should have been my job. I was promised I’d be promoted to Head Librarian when Oswald retired. In
stead the Compton family needed someplace to stick Henry and so they gave him my job.” She crossed her legs. They were nice legs.
“Why were you following me?”
“I found your name and level on a notepad on Henry’s desk. I had a feeling that Henry was up to something and I decided to investigate.”
I suspected she read Nancy Drew when she was young.
“So you followed Henry up here?”
“You were leaving when I came down and you looked suspicious so I decided to follow you instead. I didn’t know you are a detective. Did Henry hire you?”
I nodded and then got up from behind my desk.
Doña Svoboda got up also, and went to the door with me. “Where are we going?”
I took her by the arm as we left my office then faced her. “We aren’t going anywhere. You are going back to your library while I go do some detecting.”
“But I want to help,” she protested.
“You will be helping,” I told her. “I want you at the library where you can keep an eye on the books, and in case another ransom message comes in.”
She didn’t look like she believed that was going to happen. I wasn’t hurt. I didn’t believe it either. I put her on a lift pad and then stood back and watched as she rose ten meters and disappeared through the floor of Level Six.
* * *
I spent the next two hours digging for information at a data depot, working a hunch. Finally satisfied, I paid my tab and left for Level One.
Officially, Lunar Colony Three is egalitarian and any resident has a right to be on any level, but as I stepped off the lift pad on Level One I was aware that I was not of the same social and economic class as those I saw strolling the well-kept corridors. The sidelong glances I received let me know they were aware of it, too.
It took twenty minutes and three wrong turns before I found the door. A small screen displayed the name, Compton. I touched it and a chime sounded somewhere inside. A few moments later a man in a short formal cape opened the door and inquired as to my business. I handed him my card and told him that Mr. Henry Compton would want to see me. He eyed me with distaste.
“Mr. Henry is out. If you have a bill you may take it around to the kitchen entrance.”
I shook my head. “No, I want to see Mr. Henry Compton, Senior. And trust me, Jeeves, once he reads the note on that card he’s going to want to see me.” The door closed in my face but he kept the card.
I rocked on my heels as I waited. Jeeves, whose name was really Langley, he informed me, escorted me to see the master of the house and the wealthiest man on Luna.
As a private investigator, I’ve learned not to betray my emotions, but I couldn’t help staring when I was shown into The Dome Room. I’d seen photos of it, everyone has, but to see it in person was different. The large, circular room was topped by a large geodesic dome made of hundreds of triangular panes of thick glass. Through the glass I could see out into space, where hundreds and thousands of stars shone in the black emptiness. I could also see Earth, blue and white, just rising over the horizon.
“An impressive sight, isn’t it?” a thin, reedy voice asked. I reluctantly dropped my gaze and focused on the man standing in front of me.
Henry Compton, Senior was—I’d looked it up—ninety-five years old. Age had thinned his body and mottled his skin. His head was a skin-covered skull and his eyes were half-closed as though weary with age. He looked at me and then held up the card I had sent in.
“Frankenstein and The Spanish Nun,” he read aloud. “Well, young man, you got my attention. What about it?”
“You know it’s a book, right?”
He made a face. “I ought to. I bought the damn thing over fifty years ago and paid a fortune to lift it to Luna for my collection. Now, will you tell me what this is about or do I call Langley and have you thrown out?”
I told him. I told him the book was missing from the Compton Library and that a two-hundred-thousand-credit ransom was being demanded. Henry Compton, Senior decided to sit down on a nearby sofa. I sat on a chair opposite.
“And my son, Henry Junior, hired you to find it?”
“Yes and no.”
He raised his head and looked at me but I could tell he already knew the truth. Henry Junior had hired me not to find the book but to tell his father that it couldn’t be found and that the ransom would have to be paid. I told Henry Senior that my digging this evening had uncovered that Junior owed some very nasty people a lot of money, close to two-hundred-thousand credits, in fact.
Henry Compton, Senior, master of most of Luna, sat for a long while without speaking after I finished my recitation. I spent the time looking up through the dome and was rewarded with the sight of a shuttle arcing across the stars.
“You’ll be paid for your time, of course,” he said at last. “Submit your bill to my office. There won’t be any need to itemize it or go into detail about the work that was performed.”
I didn’t get up.
“There’s one other thing,” I said. “Doña Katrina Svoboda.”
“What about her?”
“She gets the job of Head Librarian.”
He waved his hand. “Fine. She should have had it anyway.”
I stood. He looked up at me as I did. Henry Compton, Senior, looked a lot older than he had a half-hour before. “It’s just that I thought that a job might give Henry Junior, a way to settle down, something to do,” he trailed off and looked down again.
I left him there, a rich, old man who was afraid his life was a failure.
* * *
Two hours later, Kat and I were getting to know each other over a late dinner at a place neither of us could afford but Henry Senior could. I figured my bill to him could stand a little padding. Kat and I were mulling over what to order for dessert when the maître d’ glided up to our table and in a soft whisper let me know there was a call for me. I waved him away but he leaned closer, and in an awed whisper said, “It’s Mr. Henry Compton, Senior.”
I took the handset from him, waited until he had moved a respectful distance away, winked at Kat, and greeted Henry Senior.
He spoke over my words. “Mr. Kenyon. You have to come to my residence immediately.”
I tried to tell him I was otherwise engaged, but he cut me off.
“Please, Mr. Kenyon. You will find me in the Dome Room.” He hung up.
I explained the call to Kat. “Want to come along? You’ll get a chance to see the Compton Dome.”
Maybe it was the champagne we’d had or maybe she actually enjoyed my company. She said yes and I didn’t care why. I paid the bill and we left for Level One and Compton’s residence.
Langley greeted us at the door. He raised an eyebrow when he saw Kat. “My instructions were to show you to the Dome Room, Mr. Kenyon. No one else is expected.”
I pushed past him with Kat on my arm.
“Tsk, tsk, Langley. Where I goeth, Doña Svoboda goeth as well.” I was discovering that champagne has a different effect than Moon beer. Langley gave in and escorted us to the Dome Room.
“Mr. Kenyon,” he announced as he opened the door. He looked at Kat and I hissed her last name. “And Doña Svoboda,” he added. We entered and he left, closing the door behind him.
“Henry!” exclaimed Kat. Sure enough, Henry Junior was there, standing behind the sofa where his father sat facing us.
“Kat?” What are you doing here?” asked Henry Junior.
Henry Senior squinted at Kat. “Doña Svoboda?”
I felt a wave of chivalry come over me and took Kat’s arm.
“And why not?” I demanded. “She wants to see the stars. Hell, I want to see the stars.” I pointed up and Kat followed my gaze.
“Oh, wow,” she said.
“Yeah, wow,” I whispered in her ear.
Someone coughed. It was Henry Junior. I looked at him and at his father as Kat gazed at the stars. “Oh, right, you wanted to see me. What’s up?”
Although I addressed my words to
his father, Henry Junior was the one who answered. “Kenyon, my father has gotten the foolish idea that it was I who stole the copy of Frankenstein and The Spanish Nun. I asked him to invite you here so that you could explain to him that he got it wrong and that I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
His words sobered me up. I looked closer at Henry Senior. His face was drawn and he kept darting his eyes up, toward where Henry Junior stood behind him.
“I don’t think I can do that,” I said in an even voice. I noticed something else. Henry Junior’s hand was in his jacket pocket.
I think he saw me looking as he withdrew his hand and along with it a grey metal object. “I was afraid of that,” he said.
Kat chose that moment to become tired of the stars above. “What’s that?” she asked.
Henry Junior replied by raising the gun up for her to see. “It’s a Colt Model 1911 semi-automatic pistol,” he said in a calm voice.
“A gun?” Kat asked. She looked at me. “But there aren’t any guns on Luna.”
Henry Junior shook his head. “No modern guns. This is from the Compton Museum. You would not believe how much it cost to smuggle the bullets for it from Earth.”
“Henry,” his father began.
“Stow it, Father. I’m not interested in your speeches. In fact, I’m damned tired of them. This is all your fault, anyway. If you weren’t so tight with the family money I wouldn’t have to do this.”
I chose that moment to let my knife slip, handle first, into my hand. I kept the blade out of sight, pressed against my wrist.
“What is it you plan to do, Henry?” I asked in an even voice.
He looked at me and pointed the gun at my chest.
“No! Henry, no!” His father shouted. He turned and made a grab for Henry’s hand. Henry yanked his hand away, upward, and I saw my chance. I flicked my knife through the air and it sank deep into Henry Junior’s shoulder. A split second later, a second knife joined mine, a scant inch away. It was a small, pretty knife. Henry’s gun fired and flew out his hand from the recoil. There was a loud whistling sound and my ears felt a decrease in pressure.
“Ty! The dome is broken!” Kat grabbed my arm and pointed. I looked and saw a neat hole in one of the glass panes about forty feet away. As I looked the glass began fracturing around the hole.
Moon Shot Page 13