by Brian Daley
"How long? How long has this program been running?"
"For Weir? We don't know, Alacrity. A very long time, I think. Victoria and I have been involved in it for almost three years now; Corva for about two. We're the last, you see, the last of this apparatus."
Alacrity found that very distressing news. "And us? How come we're here?"
"Weir funded us, helped us all he could. He insulated us even from his sister and top advisors. We have no real avenue of approach to Redlock and Tiajo now. There are some emergency procedures, but quite frankly we're not inclined to use them. Even in Weir's Domain, and especially in Frostpile, I think, the Camarilla has its plants."
Alacrity said, "It does if the Bank of Spica's in on it. One of their board members tried to kill us at Frostpile. Didn't make a grain of sense to me until tonight."
"Yes, that sounds reasonable. At any rate, Weir helped us set up several different scenarios for what we should do with the Repository information once we get it. After all, we can't simply start taking out advertisements or hand it over to the governments involved; that's how all this started in the first place. We'd just disappear like all the others. One of Weir's scenarios had to do with getting word to Earth as a start."
Floyt's brows knotted. Alacrity said, "Earth? Ha, some chance! How?"
"Well, one way to get the word there is in a starship, but starships are prohibited there, have been for centuries."
"I know," Alacrity said impatiently. "I read all about those early experiment disasters."
"The only way a starship can land on Terra," Victoria said, "the only way it could get past the Solar Defense Forces and land even if the Alpha-Bureaucrats don't want it to, is—"
"Is with a Letter of Free Import," Floyt said calmly. "That's what this finally boils down to, isn't it?"
"That's what it finally boils down to," Corva agreed softly. "Weir got word to us; he'd found out about Project Shepherd and the Letter of Free Import that was involved."
"And all of this was just to get a letter."
"And to get an Earther, just one, to know the truth," Victoria insisted. "To put the facts before him. I think Weir was very impressed with what you'd done—your histories and genealogies. I think he wanted you in particular to serve as representative for your planet. There seemed to be something about you, something he didn't go into."
Floyt found himself thinking about the causality harp and Strange Attractors.
"It could work," Alacrity said, fingering his chin, looking up at the swirling glow-worm arabesques patterning the ceiling. "Besides, think how surprised Supervisor Bear would be, Ho, and all those Alphas."
"I'd rather not." Floyt's conditioning was giving him the whimmies as it was.
"There are rather more immediate things to consider anyway," Corva said. "Such as the uproar we detected at the compounds. Ships have been departing in great numbers, and intercompound commo traffic is fast and furious. We detected some heavy-weapons activity too. We'd like to know what's happened, if you can tell us."
"We got diverted for a while," Alacrity said. "They held us there for a bit, but we got away. I guess we left them in a flap, but that's not really relevant right now."
"It is to the Camarilla," Victoria corrected. "Over at the Repository they've taken notice too, and we think it's got them nervous. We think they may be planning another move, off Blackguard, very soon now."
"But you folks have a plan, am I right?" Alacrity said.
"We have one on schedule," Corva answered, "a carefully worked out schedule. That schedule will have to be discarded now. We will have to make our attempt within a matter of days."
"I—I … " Floyt was having trouble getting started. He'd seen nothing to prove the terrible things they'd been telling him, and yet he found them credible. But he turned his mind away from the snarled evil of the Conspiracy.
"I'm not involved in this." He brought forth the words at last. "I'm here for my Inheritance, the Astraea Imprimatur, I can't become part of—of this other matter. I can't! I have to return to Earth."
Dios, I was so involved with this crazy story I forgot! Alacrity realized with a start. He's still under the conditioning!
"And if we do not choose to give her over to you?" Janusz asked.
Alacrity was very wary in answering; Janusz was no one to provoke. "Is that the way Weir wanted it?"
Victoria answered before Janusz could. "No. It was hoped that Citizen Floyt would help us. Quite frankly, Director Weir seemed to think that hearing about our situation would persuade him to come over to our side."
"I wish I could be of help to you. But I cannot."
"What're your plans, Ho?" Alacrity inquired mildly.
Floyt squared his shoulders, unconsciously fingering the Inheritor's belt. "What they've been all along. I have to take Astraea Imprimatur back to Terra."
"The Earthservice'll put you through a debriefing and wring you out like a rag," Alacrity shot back. "The Alphas'll put you under, find out what you know, and never let you wake up again."
"I can't help that, Alacrity." Floyt sighed.
"I know; I just wanted to be sure."
So saying, Alacrity brought forth the jot unit he'd taken from Constance and, nearly getting himself shot by hair-trigger Janusz, jotted the astounded Floyt into unconsciousness.
Chapter 19
Now In Rehearsal
For Real Life
"Actijot?" Janusz asked interestedly, putting his guns away as Floyt's paroxysms stopped and he slumped in his chair.
"Yeah," Alacrity said, putting the jot unit back in his pocket. "Rough, but I had to do something before his conditioning really kicked in and he started thinking ahead. He's a pretty capable guy. You'd be surprised."
"Would you like to explain yourself? Other than the fact that you want to save your friend's life?" Victoria invited.
Alacrity knelt by Floyt, peeling back his eyelids. "Life is right." He filled them in quickly on the conditioning and how his own had been accidentally removed. "If I let him go now, he'll be walking right into the Camarilla's hands."
"Ah! You believe us!" Corva explained.
Alacrity nodded. "I always had the feeling Ho and me had at least two sets of enemies. Three, counting Inst."
Inst had been killed, and Endwraithe. That supposedly left only Dincrist as their avowed foe. But the feeling hadn't gone away. The existence of the Camarilla would explain everything that had happened to Floyt and Alacrity.
"And so you've saved Citizen Floyt from himself," Janusz observed. "But what will you do now? Or hadn't you thought about that?"
Alacrity turned to Victoria. "You were a Langstretch Field Op One. I was sort of hoping you'd be able to help."
She looked him over with heavy-lidded reserve, the dark, thick brows poised high. "You know quite a bit about Langstretch, don't you, Master Fitzhugh? Well, you're right; I've been through the advanced training."
"Can you do it? Deprogram him?"
"I think so. I'm not the best there is, but I'm the best you're liable to find around here. How long was the conditioning regimen?"
"Oh, maybe two, two and a half Standard days. Earthservice was up against a deadline."
"That's very good for us. My equipment is up on the third tier. If you gentlemen will take Citizen Floyt's arms and legs?"
Alacrity and Janusz hauled Floyt into the foyer and loaded him aboard a whisk-platform. Victoria gave a verbal command to the empty air, and they were all wafted up to a vacant room, bypassing ramps and staircases.
Floyt was deposited on a sleep dais. Alacrity wanted to stick around, but Victoria said no. She was setting out devices resembling the things Skate had used on Alacrity, except that they were newer and more elaborate. "This will be difficult enough without interruptions or distractions. You're just going to have to trust me, Alacrity."
Corva put a paw-hand on Alacrity's shoulder, and Alacrity relaxed to the inevitable. He took Victoria's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Thank you."
/>
He noticed that that drew an instant's glare from Janusz.
The whisk-platform carried the two men and the Srillan back down to the study smoothly and quickly. "Janusz and I have to see to a few details, make sure Old Raffles is secure for the night and whatnot," Corva told Alacrity. "If you wish, you can contact your other friends and make arrangements to meet with them tomorrow. They're welcome here at the chateau, of course."
Alacrity thought that over. "Maybe. But when you come back, I'd like to hear a little more about Astraea Imprimatur. I also wouldn't mind knowing how you're planning to take this Repository."
Corva made the snuffling sound his kind used for laughter.
"Yes, I think you'll find that intriguing. You see, they have a total-destruct mechanism in place. Rather than lose the Camarilla evidence to outsiders, they would eliminate it."
"But, hold on now," Alacrity objected. "There's got to be some sort of catch, or else why hasn't one Camarilla faction, or two, or all of 'em, tackled the Repository long since? I mean, the evidence goes up, poof!, and they're out from under the Custodians, no?"
"That's very astute, Alacrity," Corva said, "except that there's a deep backup in place. If the Repository's put out of commission, certain dead-man precautions cut in, and duplicates of the evidence are delivered to all the Camarilla factions. It's what you might call the Sampson Option; it would trigger an all-out power struggle, and none of them want that.
"Oh, and as regards the Astraea Imprimatur, you and Hobart can inspect her whenever you choose. I think you'll be impressed. As for the Repository—the key to everything, you see, was in our gaining a controlling interest in the Parish Ink and Paper Company."
"The which? But what's that got to do with—never mind. I'll be in the library."
He opened a commo connection and broadcast a sketchy situation report in a prearranged message code he'd worked out with Heart and Sintilla, naming a time for his return to the Harpy. The Harpy didn't acknowledge, but he didn't expect her to; they didn't want anyone happening to get a DF fix on her.
When Janusz and Corva came back, all three settled into comfortable chairs. Corva cued displays of Parish city maps, the floor plan of the Repository, timetables, and flow charts. As Alacrity began to understand the significance of the Parish Ink and Paper Company, his smile grew wider and wider.
In return, he told them about the Grapple and the Blackguard compounds.
"Which brings up something else," Alacrity said. "We've still got those actijots in us. Can you arrange for us to visit a medicenter, or bring someone out here?"
Corva looked distressed, but Janusz barked a laugh. "To remove actijots? We'd have to kill or confine everyone concerned after it was over."
"He's right," Corva said somberly. "One or two fugitives from the compounds have reached here over the years. The people of Parish don't know much about what goes on on the other side of their planet; they don't wish to. But they know enough to stay well clear of anybody escaped from there. There were some dreadful object lessons from the Betters, in the beginning."
"Aw, fancula!" Alacrity snarled, slouched in his chair. Then: "Oh, well; there'll be time for it later—and no chance we'll be traced. I guess we can live with the jots until we're off-world."
"Yes, to be sure; we'll find help for you at the earliest possible opportunity," Corva said.
The door opened just then and Victoria came in, looking weary. She sat down, refusing refreshments, massaging her neck.
"The Earthservice isn't as thorough as it might be," she said. "I suppose that was because they wanted Hobart socially functional, not robotized. In any case, I've countered the conditioning. I got it all, I'm fairly certain."
Alacrity almost kissed her until he remembered the dirty look he'd gotten from Janusz just for squeezing her fingers. Instead, he proposed they have a round to celebrate.
Victoria declined. "I'm all in, and we have a lot to do in the next few days. I'll see you all in the morning."
She left. The other three raised their glasses in a toast to what lay ahead. Alacrity felt on top of the world. This Camarilla's gonna wish they never heard of a couple of hard-luck riffraff named Floyt and Fitzhugh!
Janusz excused himself and left a few minutes later. Alacrity began yawning as Corva directed the autoservants to straighten up.
"Look, it's none of my business," Alacrity said tentatively, "but if Jaunsz and Victoria are—together, you know—they don't have to play innocent for my sake. After all, you three are taking us in, and all of that."
Corva's droopy-lidded eyes looked him over for a second. "It's rather more complicated than that. You know who he is?"
"Heard of him, yes."
"Well, once all of this Repository business is over, I'm afraid, Victoria plans to arrest him and turn him over to the authorities. Unless he kills or disables her first, or gets away. I, unfortunately, am sworn not to intervene; it's part of our compact."
Alacrity's mouth had fallen open. "He … she … "
"She was about to do that back when they first became aware of the Camarilla. They formed an alliance of necessity, or they'd both be dead now. It's a very complicated situation, Alacrity; I'm telling you this so that you and your friends don't get involved. It's something strictly between them."
"Thanks. You won't get any arguments from me. As long as they hold off until the Repository's taken care of, that is."
"They will. Of that much I'm certain."
Corva took one whisk-platform to his second-tier room; Alacrity boarded another programmed for the third-tier bedroom he'd been assigned. As he floated up through the great epergne of Old Raffles, he changed course to check on Floyt.
The Earther was sleeping soundly. As Alacrity left Floyt's bedroom, he heard low voices around a turn in the curving hallway. He eased in that direction, listening. Being a courteous guest had its place, but he preferred knowing what was going on and where he stood.
He peeked around the turn. Farther along, Victoria stood with her back to her bedroom door, Janusz standing very close and looking down into her eyes. Whatever the conversation had been about, it was over. Victoria reached up and put her arms around Janusz's neck. He embraced her, putting his lips to hers.
Oh, yes, they've got themselves a ceasefire, all right, Alacrity thought, watching Victoria draw Janusz into her bedroom.
Alacrity drew back around the corner and started for the whisk-platform. As it wafted him upward, he tried to figure out why things never got simpler, but only more and more complicated.
"But I still feel like I want to go back to Earth. In fact, I know I do."
"Well, naturally you do, Ho," Alacrity said patiently. "It's where you live and where your family is. That hasn't changed."
Floyt, propped up on the sleeping dais, sipped at tea flavored with local herbs and spices.
"See here, Alacrity: I appreciate what you thought you were doing for me, but the deconditioning didn't work, period. The tension's still there—in my gut and in my head—over getting the ship and all of that."
"Of course, because those are real problems, Ho, and you'd be crazy not to be worried about them, but—okay; watch."
Alacrity gesture opened the door to Floyt's bedroom and he beckoned in Corva, Janusz, and Victoria.
"Now, Ho," he said. "Tell them who Chief Clinician Skinner is."
"What? Why, he's the one who—who—who conditioned us." He looked at them wonderingly. "Then it's true," he said slowly. "Oh, this is … Victoria, I'm forever grateful to you."
"Uh-huh, even though you're still going to insist on taking the damn ship back to the Earthservice, aren't you?" Alacrity said in mock disgust.
"You're very welcome, Hobart," Victoria said. "Did you rest well?"
Floyt nodded.
"Good," Alacrity said, "because there's lots to do."
"Things are getting active over at the Repository," Corva explained. "We think the Custodians are preparing to move their operation. We will move agains
t them just as soon as we can, about eight days from now."
"So there're all kinds of things to see to," Alacrity said. "Look, Ho, I've been thinking: how would you like to learn to fly?"
The chateau's spacious hangar-garage had a half-dozen ground vehicles, everything from a beat-up old power rickshaw to a stretch touring car, and four aircraft, including a spaceboat slightly larger and somewhat older than the Harpy.
"How did you people come to be so well set up?" Floyt asked as he, Alacrity, and Victoria walked the row of vehicles. "The chateau and all this—it must have taken a great deal of money," Floyt added.
"Weir funded us generously," Victoria explained. "And—money came our way, from time to time. It's like that when you have your own starship."
Alacrity nudged Floyt on that one, fluttering his eyebrows. Floyt pointedly ignored him.
"Plus," she went on, "every so often we saw our chance to take off people tied in to the Camarilla, or underworld types, or whomever. I mean, between what Janusz and I know and things Corva picked up before he became a contrition-knight, we mounted some pretty good takes, if I do say so myself."
Alacrity had halted. "Corva's a Srillan contrition-knight?"
"Yes. He doesn't mention it very often."
"No reason he should, I guess. Thanks for telling me, before I went and shot my mouth off or something."
"Think nothing of it."
Still panicked by the thought of flying an aircraft, Floyt decided he didn't care what they were talking about. The three passed the airsedan and stopped by a larger craft, a sky truck with flat battleship-gray hull and no trim.
Alacrity started to climb into the pilot's poz, but Victoria stopped him. "Friends shouldn't teach friends; it puts too much of a strain on things."
She buckled herself in and Floyt, after some hesitation, took the copilot's seat. Alacrity fastened himself into a rear seat.
To Floyt's enormous relief, Victoria said, "You just watch for now." She ran through a preflight check, explaining things as she went, then brought the power up and signaled the hangar door open. She guided the skytruck out with a deft touch and made a smooth ascent. Floyt calmed a bit; it didn't look all that hard. As Janusz had the previous night, she followed the ground-access roads to avoid provoking the residents of Parish Above.